kennahijja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kennahijja) wrote2008-01-15 07:34 pm
kennahijja) wrote2008-01-15 07:34 pm
FIC: The Practice of Walking in Darkness [2/2] (Harry/Fenrir/Draco, others, NC-17)
Title: The Practice of Walking in Darkness (2 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![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merry_smutmas 2007 for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
son_of_darkness. Thanks to liriaen, melusinahp, stuckinsea and my much-missed Thea for rapid beta and spot-on advice!
Part 1
It turned out to be one of the better nights among those that followed. As Rabastan had promised, they did their utmost to make Harry rue his decision, and succeeded. They passed him back and forth among them, night after night, until days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, and somewhere along the way, Harry stopped caring about such things as time passing. He survived. No more, no less.
During the day and the rare night when no one wanted his company, Harry was locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, a fact that left him doubled over with hysterical laughter the first time he was shoved into it. They didn't know; Rabastan at least would have mocked him otherwise. Despite its raw brick and debris, its stuffy dark and its spiders, the cupboard held the comforts of a childhood hidey-hole. They left him his torn Auror robes as a blanket, and if they'd hoped that their choice of prison would unsettle him, they were disappointed.
They didn't starve him either. Fenrir brought in fresh and dry meats for Harry and Draco, delighted as if he was feeding a kennel of cubs; Rabastan fed Harry by hand, morsels of rich food, sweets and sometimes even wine or liqueurs, after making him beg or earn them in elaborate ways. There was a tray with sandwiches and strong tea every so often in his hole under the stairs. No, they definitely did not want him to waste away from anything that wasn't up close and personal.
Harry learned to fear Rodolphus Lestrange with a bone-deep, raw terror above all others. Not for the way he fucked. Rodolphus always took Harry face-down just as Greyback preferred, stroking his naked back and tangling his hands in Harry's hair. Harry could have borne the fucking. Inevitably, Rodolphus made sure he was hard for it, making Harry touch himself, or sometimes, kneeling behind him, fully sheathed inside Harry's arse, he would coax Harry to hardness with his own hand. As inevitably, however, when he approached climax, Rodolphus would secure Harry's hands behind his back with the tasselled cord of the bed curtain, and cast the Cruciatus Curse, letting Harry's writhing propel him to orgasm. It could last a minute, sometimes two or more, until Harry shrieked and sobbed and begged for death.
There was no way of telling what Rodolphus saw in those moments of twisted ecstasy – Harry, a random victim, Bellatrix's killer or Bellatrix herself. Though certainly not even the Lestranges, deranged as they were, would have fucked each other with the Cruciatus Curse?
Harry had quickly learned to plead after the curse had taken him by surprise that first time. 'Please don't do this again, please, I'll do anything you want...' Rodolphus just looked through him with those vacant black eyes while laying him out, binding him, as Harry cried and trembled in terror.
The mere thought of Rodolphus was enough to leave Harry sweating with fear. His brother, however, was danger of a different kind.
Rabastan had been the one who'd wanted Harry in the first place, and now he played his victory to the hilt. He took eerie delight in tying Harry to his bed, or the chaiselongue, and tormenting him for hours. Transfiguring everyday items into an assortment of sex toys just to see what they would do to Harry. Laying into him with switches, crops and paddles after ordering Harry to keep perfectly still until heat turned to pain and pain mounted to a point where Harry tried to crawl away and could then be punished for that.
The younger Lestrange reminded Harry of an overgrown boy in a toy store, and Harry made for the perfect plaything - too shiny to break or scuff up too badly, yet nothing that required much care. Like a doll you kept twisting at the joints, not quite wanting to break it, but testing how far it could bend before cracking.
Harry painfully remembered the night Rabastan had fed him potion-laced chocolates on the couch, then spread the liquid core of another over Harry's prick until the aphrodisiac left him so hard he cried, unable to bring himself off. Rabastan plied him with licks, kisses, clamps and his riding crop while an enchanted plug hummed deep inside Harry's arse, mixing pain and need and pleasure into something so potent that Harry feared he would drown in it.
He gave the man everything he asked for, did everything his too-innocent imagination could come up with that Rabastan might want for his pleasure. Craving for release, Harry spent the night bound hand and foot to the chaiselongue, incapable of touching himself and writhing from unfulfilled desire until the potion started to wear off in the early morning hours. Rabastan made a point of detouring both times he left his four poster for the bathroom to curl his hand around Harry's straining cock and bring him back to hardness until Harry had to bite his tongue not to scream abuse at the man.
Where Rodolphus just wanted him howling in agony, Rabastan wanted him obedient - jumping at every word or finger snap, kneeling gracefully, begging prettily. As much as Harry hated the man, he had to admit that Rabastan had a gift for touch, unerringly finding Harry's most sensitive and vulnerable spots. Below the agony of being denied release, however, lay the agonising, rare sweetness of being permitted. The urge of submitting, of yielding to pleasure or the lack of it, of stopping the struggle for self-control and just letting Rabastan's hands roam over him and eliminate all conscious thought. The idea scared Harry to death, but it didn't make the prospect any less seductive.
Harry must have been a godsend to cure the Lestranges' frustrations. The brothers wouldn't touch Draco, as Harry had found out when Rabastan backhanded him for asking the question, snarling to 'curb his vile Muggle imagination'. Apparently Death Eater morals forbade molesting one's nephew by marriage, but handing him over to be raped and mauled by a werewolf was all right.
Greyback himself took an unholy delight in setting Harry up above Draco, knowing how much Harry hated it. The rough sex Harry could have, well, not got used to, but borne. Being made to fuck - to hurt - Draco was agony.
The very first time Greyback had handed Harry his belt and ordered him to whip the other boy, Harry had flat-out refused. He'd shivered when the werewolf dragged him to a bedpost and bound him there with his hands behind his back, trying to anticipate what revenge he'd take. Greyback had picked up the belt, then turned to lay into Malfoy, ignoring Harry's yells of protest until Malfoy's backside was striped with red welts from shoulders to calves.
Then he spread Draco's thighs apart, arranging him just so that Harry could view him perfectly, then balled his fist, raised it as if to greet Harry, and kissed his knuckles. Harry's scream of protest when he understood was drowned out by Malfoy's terrified shrieks as Greyback greased up his hand and began to shove his fingers into the young man's unprepared hole. At one point, Harry's endless string of pleas and curses must have become tiresome, because Greyback withdrew the four fingers he'd already worked into Malfoy and strolled over to Harry, shoving a pair of discarded fingerless gloves between Harry's teeth to gag him. Unmoved by his glare, Greyback stroked his cheek with the knuckles he'd just withdrawn from Malfoy, leaving a stripe of blood and the sharp lubrication grease he was so fond of using, before kissing the corner of Harry's silenced mouth as if to heap insult on injury.
"Your decision," he murmured before returning to Malfoy, making very certain Harry could see everything that was happening.
Malfoy's screams had turned hoarse by the time Greyback had his hand worked into him in its entirety, and turned to sickening, high whines that sounded more animal than human when he balled it to a fist inside Malfoy's over-strained arse.
When it was over, Malfoy's body lay splayed on the filthy mattress like a discarded rag, so motionless that Harry feared the shock might have killed him. Perhaps it would have been merciful if it had.
Without sparing his broken victim another glance, Greyback went back to Harry, pulled the leather glove from between his clenched teeth, cut the cords that tied him to the post, and thrust the belt back into his hand.
This time, Harry used it on Malfoy's chalky flesh without a word of protest, aware that the boy was probably too far gone to feel anything, but determined to correct a mistake he would never make again.
When taking Harry in turn became boring, his captors had him waiting naked on his knees in the dining room of their claustrophobic safe-house while they played chess or Snap, the victor leading him away to his bedroom like a prize. And claustrophobic it was. There were high windows in every room, but they were hung with curtains and it was always dark when Harry was let out of his cupboard. The one time he managed to sneak a peek beyond, there was nothing outside other than a grey wall of fog. Somehow, the house had been sealed away, hidden behind some shielding magic. The Death Eaters themselves never seemed to venture outside.
After a while, they left the choice of abuser to him every so often, which rattled Harry most of all. He was too terrified to pick Rodolphus, and increasingly aware of the degree to which Rabastan's poisonous touches managed to twist him. Entering Fenrir's lair all too often meant entering Draco, but what scared Harry to the core was that he'd somehow learned to find pleasure in that. Plunging into Draco's arse, or feeling that hot, skilled mouth around his prick, brought with it a few moments of fleeting, stolen peace. A chance to forget where he was, what had become of him, even if it meant suffering Fenrir slamming into him. It was an escape that his mind resented, but his body craved it nonetheless.
Between them, they peeled his soul like an onion, shredding his defences layer by layer, and every night under their hands wound him tighter like a screw tightening towards the breaking point.
He could feel the legacy of Fenrir's teeth now, roiling inside him as it did inside Draco. The animal was mindless, destructive, a fighting instinct that roared to lash out against his tormentors, railing against being held in check - against dancing obedience to each of Rabastan's lewd commands, lying paralyzed with terror under Rodolphus's hands waiting for the curse to strike, and smelling prey on Draco's white skin. Sometimes, Harry wondered how Draco dealt with it, submitting without feeling the overwhelming rage that tore at Harry. Then he recalled the blank, smooth face that hardly came to life at all, and wondered if that was what would happened when the pressure finally broke him. It wasn't an if any longer - only a when.
He sensed the moon, stronger the second time it bloomed than the first, and not just in himself. Greyback was rougher, too, in the days before the full moon: all feral urge but with less conscious malevolence. Draco went so far as to strike Harry across the face when he tried to pet his hair for comfort once, growling until Harry trailed his hands down Draco's body, mouth travelling from belly button to the crease of Draco's thighs. It was the only time he ever got to suck Draco off, with long-fingered hands winding painfully in his hair and Draco's cock weighing down his tongue. Harry enjoyed it, even though Greyback watched and afterwards told him off for his weakness and fucked Draco hard, to remind him of his place.
Lucius Malfoy never touched Harry at all. Never spoke to him, never looked at him except with contemptuous distaste. As the weeks dragged by, with Harry spread out and torn between the three Death Eaters, it didn't leave Harry grateful. Instead, it filled him with a terrible, searing rage.
Malfoy could have demanded his share, could have offered a reprieve for an occasional night. Hell, he could have fucked him too; all that Harry wanted was a little bit of breathing space, a few hours safe in the company of someone who was not sinking hooks into his mind to see if he'd tear himself apart.
Harry's shrinking rational side objected in Lucius's favour - that he wouldn't want to fuck the man who fucked his son, that maybe he didn't get off on men, or rape - but Harry cheerfully hated him nonetheless. Hatred felt too good to give up. He could safely rage at Lucius, could hammer the rough floor of his cupboard pretending it was Lucius's face he was bashing in, where his mind would not permit him to rage at the Lestranges or Fenrir. He couldn't indulge his hatred for them, which might, in a moment of tension, spill over from fantasy to word or deed. Not when it could cost Ron's life.
Harry's fingers went up to touch the ribbon at his throat so often that it became unconscious habit, though he flinched every time Fenrir or the Lestranges fingered it to remind him of his place. The ribbon remained pristine, silky and vibrant, but there was no telling whether anything but death would do damage to it. Harry kept it carefully detached from Ron in his mind, though. He couldn't allow himself to think about Ron, about where he had been dragged off to, what was happening to him. He had to hope that tormenting him, Harry, would keep the Death Eaters busy. If he started to dwell on his fears for Ron's fate, he'd go mad.
Lucius Malfoy, however, was fair game until Harry could not lay eyes on the frost-pale hair and aristocratic features without seeing them through a pink-tinged cloud of fury. Lucius, who'd promised… well, something, and then let him down.
***
The rage he'd kept stoked so lovingly for weeks boiled over one early evening when he knelt on the carpet of the dining room, watching Rabastan win at Burning Snap. While Rabastan cheerfully picked up a collar from the table and snapped it around Harry's throat, Fenrir shook his singed fingers with a curse. Lucius stared in disgust at the burn mark on his embroidered sleeve while Rodolphus, having folded in time, was looking down absent-mindedly at his pile of cards.
"It looks as if poor Draco is going to have to make do with Fenrir's attentions tonight instead of enjoying Potter's tender mercies," Rabastan commented slyly. "I'm so glad you don't mind, Lucius."
Harry could see Malfoy's jaw tighten, although he managed to keep his rage off his face. "Draco's own weakness has brought about his chastisement," Lucius commented with a dismissive shrug. "It will toughen him up, and he will emerge as a stronger man."
What utter crap! Harry didn't quite dare to say that aloud, but the look he shot Malfoy across the table spoke volumes. Draco was more than half cracked already, and the only thing he'd emerge as would be a raving madman. Harry had been training to become an Auror, not a psychologist, but even he could see that.
Twirling the thin chain attached to Harry's collar between his fingers, the younger Lestrange smirked at Lucius, comfortably falling into the familiar game of needling the man. For all of Lucius's playing along as if he still was among equals, it was very clear who called the shots, and who had lost his power.
"Why else would you be passing up on our dishy little morsel here?" Rabastan petted Harry's cheek, then reached down to tweak his nipple. "If not out of pity for your own lost lamb? I've never known you to deny yourself - boys, girls… peacocks? Why not have him, then? You must be awfully frustrated."
Madness bubbled up in Harry, a heady, thrilling thing. "Yes, why don't you?" he drawled.
Rabastan and Fenrir would have beaten him to within an inch of his life if he'd looked at them with even half as much insolence, but now they leaned back without bothering to hide their smirks to watch the clash unfold. Even Rodolphus looked amused. It wasn't that Harry found Lestrange's taunts funny, far from it, but it warmed his blood to see Lucius squirm and boil under his arrogant façade. Pure madness, but Rabastan's proximity made him shudder, as if the leash he'd clasped to Harry's collar were a physical extension of the man's body. Anything to put off his fate a little longer. And if it goaded Lucius, all the better.
"I can't help but feel that for all your boasting, you haven't trained this one to obey his betters very well," Lucius remarked to his companions.
Harry looked up from where he knelt, a provocative glance from underneath half-lowered lids.
"Oh, they have taught me to obey my betters, better than you think."
Two long strides, and Lucius grabbed the chain from Rabastan's hand, who let go with a smirk. Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, the collar cutting sharply into Harry's neck. He stumbled, but caught himself.
Then Lucius's cane swung at him, catching him across the chest and knocking him back onto the worn carpet before the fireplace. Harry hissed. On his chest, a welt formed from upper arm to nipple. Malfoy raised his cane once more.
"If you're spoiling for a fight, Potter - have it."
The cane came down, smacking the side of Harry's hip, a dull flare of pain that thundered through him as if the blow had sent his hipbone ringing. He bared his teeth.
"That's not a fight," he ground out. "I can't fight back."
Stopping in mid-strike, Malfoy looked down at him, his mouth curled up in an expression that was as far from a grin as Harry had ever seen.
"Unlike my… associates, I don't need to rely on the life of your little friend to keep you in line. You think you can take me on, boy? Try!"
Harry was up and moving before the words had even properly penetrated his mind, like an animal that saw the leash sag, the cage door gaping, and the hated kennel master outside. He barely heard the cane strike his front again, although he felt it, throwing him several feet back until he broke his fall with the table edge.
Pushing himself off to lunge again, this time he managed to duck away from Malfoy's blow and landed a hit to the side of his face. Malfoy bared his teeth, hurling him away. Harry staggered back, the world spinning dizzily. The cane smashed down on his hip, a sharp, ripping pain and Harry felt blood trickle down his thigh. He landed hard on his knees again, and another fiery trail blazed across his buttocks. With Harry on the ground, Malfoy turned the cane in his hand, firmly gripping the snake handle he'd drawn blood with.
Harry had known at the back of his rational mind that he'd never stood a chance. Malfoy wouldn't have dared him if he'd posed a danger. The cane rose and fell, impacting on the fleshy parts of Harry's anatomy - buttocks, thighs, hips. A few strokes hit his back and arms and calves, and his bones groaned under them. Rabastan had beaten him often enough, but with a wooden cane that, while it stung and smarted, had had neither the weight nor the force of Lucius's solid silver. Harry twisted, hissing under the blows, then surrendered to raw cries as they kept on coming.
His flesh and bones ached, until Harry felt as if even his inner organs were bruised. He sucked in high, whiny breaths like a thirsty dog when Lucius stopped and leaned the cane against the table. From the way Harry's entire body burned, he was surprised to see it wasn't spattered with blood.
"Some things are more satisfying when done without magic," Lucius commented casually, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose from his ponytail back behind his ear. "Still, Rabastan, if you'd summon something that will discipline the young fool without breaking his bones? You've won tonight's game after all - I don't want to spoil your entertainment."
Yes, while Rodolphus and Fenrir couldn't care less whether Harry came to them with the marks of the previous night, Rabastan was quite skilled with healing charms. He preferred a blank canvas to work on. Now, there was a distinct hint of amusement in his voice.
"But of course, dear brother-in-law."
A wand flick, and one of the dinner forks on the table twitched and lengthened until Rabastan held a slender but vicious-looking riding crop which he offered to Lucius with a bow. Lucius reached for it, his attention diverted from Harry for a moment.
Gathering his fading strength, Harry threw himself around, reaching for Malfoy's ankle to bring him crashing down. The Death Eater twisted himself away at the last moment, and the foot Harry had been aiming for caught him in the stomach. Breath hissed out of Harry's lungs. He curled around the stabbing pain at his middle, seeing sparks while Malfoy tore the hem of his cloak out of his fingers.
The crop cut a thin line across Harry's left thigh. Harry groaned, reflexively pressing his palm to the cut, only to pull it back with a yelp when the crop hit the back of his hand. The next lash hit his throat, the tip biting the underside of his chin until Harry cowered down with his cheek pressed to the carpet. He shielded his face with one hand, his groin with the other. It left his back vulnerable, however, and on that Lucius went to work with a vengeance as if he, too, had nurtured his rage and was now using Harry's poor body to vent himself.
Although he tried to bear his punishment stoically, Harry found himself jerking and moaning under the flurry of blows, trying to get away from the lash. It felt as if Malfoy was splashing him with drops of liquid fire.
And then it was over. Dropping the crop, Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, then slammed him face-first into the slate-panelled wall around the fireplace. At the last second, Harry managed to turn his head aside to avoid bashing his teeth in. Instead, his face impacted from temple to chin, a jarring jolt of pain that promised to leave a nasty bruise.
Malfoy kicked his legs apart, and Harry tensed, knowing, dreading what would come. Lucius grabbed his wrists, capturing them in one hand and pulled them up behind his back until Harry let out a scream. His shoulders and arms were covered in welts, and having his arms twisted like this would have hurt like hell without the additional discomfort.
He heard cloth rustle, aware that Malfoy was undoing the front of his robes, and then he felt Malfoy's cock push forward against his unprepared hole. Harry froze, unable to struggle because Malfoy's grip on his arms was too painful.
Malfoy's cock poked his hole, guided in by Malfoy's free hand, and then Malfoy shoved himself forward so abruptly that Harry screamed against the cold stone. The force of it almost crushed his groin against the wall.
He had no time to adjust before Malfoy started to pound into him, sharp, jerky thrusts that had to hurt him nearly as much as they hurt Harry. Although Harry had become adjusted to being at the receiving end of a cock over the past weeks, he nearly crawled into the wall to escape the full force of Malfoy's rage.
Malfoy had not undone his trousers properly, nor taken off his robe, only bared the stiff flesh of his cock while the fabric of his clothes rubbed against the welts and scratches that covered Harry's entire back. Another thrust, and Harry had to push his buttocks back a little, even if it meant giving Lucius a deeper angle to penetrate him. It was the only way to prevent his limp prick from being shredded against the slate.
"Is this what you wanted, Potter?" Lucius hissed into his ear, blond hair coming free of his hair tie and falling around Harry's shoulders like a frozen waterfall. He was thrusting into Harry so hard it almost knocked all breath from Harry's lungs.
"No," Harry ground out, a wheezing sound that broke off in a hiss as Malfoy rammed into him again, bruising his hipbone against the brick.
"That's too bad, Potter. It is what you earned."
Lucius snapped his hips forward again, searing Harry's channel while his cloak flapped around them, shielding their interlocked bodies from sight. So much like wings that Harry felt wrapped up like a vampire victim, only that Malfoy was feasting on the wrong part of his body.
At least it was over quickly. Malfoy pressed himself against Harry when he came, as if to absorb his body in more ways than just the sexual, spilling deep inside him with a familiar squishy, disgusting sensation.
When he let go of Harry's wrists and pulled out, another whimper escaped Harry's throat. His arms hurt so badly he could barely feel his hands, and his arse burned like fire.
A rough shove, and Harry found himself flung back onto his knees on the carpet. Knees buckling, he almost collapsed entirely, feeling sticky semen between his thighs. Lucius walked towards him, all properly buttoned up again with the hem of his cloak whipping around his ankles. The riding crop was back in his hands.
"No!" Harry pleaded through cracked lips, too weak to move as the coil flashed over his buttocks, driving him to the floor. Lucius's boot on his hip kept him in place, kept him from protecting his groin. Harry stared up, mouth moving in soundless entreaty but Malfoy only gazed down with a slow, dark smile, then snapped the crop over Harry's upper thighs. The tip flicked against Harry's prick almost tenderly before the pain blossomed. Harry could feel his eyes spill over. His belly and legs burned under the onslaught that came even harder than before, as if Malfoy was trying to punish him for having to fuck him on top of everything else.
When Malfoy took his foot away, Harry curled up like a dying caterpillar while Malfoy went to work on his back. Writhing on the ground, Harry felt lash after lash raining down on him, until the world bloomed in pain. The rough carpet scratched his stomach raw, inflaming the welts that adorned it, scraping along his prick until he screamed in agony. Then something reared up inside him, immense and tidal, and he spilled himself onto the carpet in a drawn-out scream.
A helpless whine escaped his lips, shame so acute that he could barely hear the Death Eaters laughing at him. How could he come like this, when he'd not even noticed that he had an erection?
Even his shame was swept away by the next volley of blows. It no longer felt like a rain of fire but rather like hail that buffeted Harry's helpless body and left him too weak to think. Pain mounted, surged and then morphed into pure, unadulterated heat. It enveloped Harry, cocooning him, as if in the loving arms of a dragon who cradles its eggs before breathing life into them.
Perhaps he had burned to cinders, Harry thought faintly. Perhaps Lucius had cracked the feeble shell of his body at last, and the real Harry inside was left to float away, invisible and loved and wrapped in a sense of peace that eclipsed even the calm he'd felt in that illusionary meeting with Dumbledore at King's Cross.
But he was breathing after all, he found, and he still hurt, although for the moment, it had almost ceased to matter. His hands spread, stroking the carpet under his palm, inexplicably happy. He could feel his face twist, and wondered whether he was smiling.
He looked up, offering his face to the whip along with himself, but the blows had stopped. He could see Lucius's face bent over him - cool eyes, thin mouth, sharp chin surrounded by a halo of frosty hair. Behind him, the room was dark, or maybe Lucius was the only thing Harry still had the energy to see.
Lucius observed him with just as much interest, for a long time. Finally, he dropped the whip and shook his head. When he moved out of range, Harry felt bereft, hurt as if someone had dropped an ice cube on his chest, right above the heart. A sense of betrayal ate its way into him when Lucius turned to address the Lestranges.
"How about stringing him up until he's calmed down?" He nodded at the set of handcuffs that dangled subtly from a chain fastened to the wall. Rabastan had conjured them one evening while they played chess for Harry's body, letting him dangle there, the small key that unlocked the cuffs hung around his neck in mockery; Rabastan claimed he enjoyed the way the strain accentuated the lines of Harry's body. Afterwards, Harry had almost been grateful when Rodolphus took him down and led him towards his Spartan bedroom.
A soft cry broke from Harry's lips as his arms were wrenched up, and then the shackles closed around his wrists. He cried out again when the weight of his body pulled on them, trying to find purchase on the floor with his toes, but trembling too hard to find his balance on tiptoes. Finally, he just hung there, tears spilling down his cheeks from pain and confusion.
Lucius touched a cool hand to his burning cheek for a moment. It was wet when he pulled it away. He reached up to fasten the chains above Harry's head, then took the little key from its hook on the wall and hung it around Harry's neck. Afterwards, he sauntered over to the dining table and accepted a glass of wine from Rabastan.
"Why don't we let him cool his heels a bit," Harry heard him suggest. He watched the man drain his glass, then reach back to re-tie his hair properly. "I'm sure he will be perfectly docile later, Rabastan, once he's had time to reflect on his foolishness."
Incredulous, Harry watched them rise, Fenrir with a leer, Rabastan with a dry chuckle and an expression that almost, but not entirely, amounted to respect. Lucius was the last to leave. His eyes travelled over Harry's body, then up to his face. He held Harry's gaze for a short moment. Then he turned and switched off the light.
Harry hung there alone in the dark, small sobs hitching in his throat, his arms trying to tear themselves from their sockets. His toes were scuffling over the carpet, straining to support his body. He managed, for a moment, then sobbed as he slipped and slumped again.
In a sudden fit of rage, he tore at the chains, only to be rewarded with a dull rattle. Then something slipped, a hard little jolt. Harry froze and looked up. The chain that connected the handcuffs was fastened far above his head, running through a cast-iron ring. Only that now, it didn't. The ring itself was there, screwed to the wall, but the chain was looped over it, not running through as it was supposed to be. If Malfoy...
No, Malfoy must have forgotten to secure it safely when Rabastan's magic had hoisted Harry up. It was the only thing that made sense.
Harry tried to calm his frantic heartbeat and took deep breaths. If he could get up on his toes again, he might be able to dislodge the chain. The little key to the cuffs burned on his chest.
It took three attempts, each of which left Harry covered in fresh sweat and nearly tore his shoulder muscles before another jerk forward brought the chain slipping down over the ring at least. He crashed to the floor, bruising his knees, but triumph heated the inside of his stomach. With a wild grin on his face, he fumbled for the key. It took several tries before his slippery, shaking fingers managed to unlock the shackles around his wrists. Then he was free.
Free and trembling and bruised all over. Harry pulled himself to his feet and risked another glimpse behind the nearest curtain. Still nothing but grey. The door would be sealed as well, no doubt. A Fidelius variant - they'd heard about them in Auror training, but hadn't learned how to break them yet.
For all his aches and pains, Harry's mind was clear in a way it hadn't been since he'd seen Draco naked on Greyback's bed, as if Lucius's whipping had not just forced his seed from him, but also exorcised the miasma of fear and rage he'd struggled against.
Despite being naked and hurt and probably operating in a state of shock, he knew this was the best chance he'd get at making a run for it. He turned the cuffs over in his hands, studying the marks they had left on his wrists. If he tried to escape now, he might die, and Ron with him. If he did not, he would suffer, and continue to suffer, until they killed him or turned him into something as vile as his captors. And now, after Lucius had stripped him to the core for all to see, he could not go back.
The sound of the door handle being pushed down turned his thoughts moot in a heartbeat. Harry whirled around to see Rabastan in the doorway, cradled by the lamplight from the corridor. For a second, Harry didn't know who looked more surprised, he or the Death Eater. Rabastan, come back to get him?
Rabastan's hand dropped to his belt with the speed of a trained duellist, and Harry sent the shackles flying towards him. Fuelled by adrenaline, they caught the Death Eater right in the face, cutting off his "Stup-" in mid-syllable. Rabastan swayed and dropped on one knee. Harry was on him in a heartbeat, hands folded into a fist. He slammed them against Rabastan's temple, then did it again for good measure before allowing the man to slump to the floor. Where it wasn't bruised, Lestrange's face was white and slack. Harry didn't want to touch him to feel for a pulse, but he could see his chest rising.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Rabastan under the arms and pulled him out of sight behind the table. A vicious little voice inside him suggested stringing him up in Harry's place, but he squashed it. Harry confiscated the fallen wand, feeling a little shiver of pleasure at the familiar sensation of wood under his palm. He went through the man's pockets, discovering a silver pendant with arcane symbols. He wrapped its chain tightly around his wrist despite the raw, bloody skin the chains had left there. Part of him wanted to take the Death Eater's robe as well to cover his nakedness, but before he could bring himself to undress the man, a harsh cry sounded from the doorway.
Harry's head flew up and he raised Rabastan's wand. Something flared in his chest when he looked into Rodolphus's face, staring down incredulously at his fallen brother and at Harry kneeling over him. Behind him stood Lucius Malfoy, unmistakable by his hair.
Although a curse curling on his tongue, Harry's muscles seized when he saw Rodolphus's wand aimed at his face. He couldn't move, mind and body awash with the memory of the Cruciatus Curse. He'd never been literally paralysed with fear, but he was now, even knowing he would die if he didn't move. But he couldn't make his body stir. He just squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for death.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light spilled against Harry's closed eyelids, hissing off the walls. Harry had died before, and knew that Voldemort had been right in the end - it hadn't hurt at all. It didn't hurt this time either, only that, unlike before, Harry had no protection left. This would be the end. Then something hit the floor with a thud, and he realised he was alive enough to open his eyes.
Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, alone, Harry's wand in hand. He was staring from the toppled form of Rodolphus on the ground to Harry with an expression of impatient distaste.
"You-" Harry started, before his voice broke and stuttered. "Thank you."
He barely managed to look at Rodolphus, whose lanky black hair obscured his face, but Malfoy had no such compulsions. He went down on one knee, grabbing Lestrange's wand where it had fallen from his fingers, and searched through the pockets of his robe. Whatever he'd hoped to find, his hands came up empty.
Harry hesitated for a long moment before opening his fist and revealing the pendant he'd taken from Rabastan.
"That's what you're looking for, isn't it?" He tried not to squint too obviously at his wand in Lucius's grip.
"The portkey." Lucius's voice sounded harsh, hungry, and the tone sent shivers down Harry's back. There was a warmth in his belly that shouldn't have been there, not now, not with this man.
"Ron and your wife? They're all right?" Harry's stomach fluttered with nerves. His hand went up to the ribbon around his throat.
"I hope so," Lucius replied.
"Well, go find them, then!" Harry growled when Lucius made no move, and dropped the pendant in his hand. The temptation to use it to rescue Ron himself was almost overwhelming, but he'd never encountered this sort of Fidelius magic before, much less tried to break it. "I'll get Draco."
He didn't mention Ron's name again, and neither did Lucius, but his spectre stood between them just as clearly as Harry knew that his own slim chance of escape would die with Draco.
Still, he held the man's eyes, and whatever the former Death Eater saw in him, other than a battered young man too exhausted to stand upright, it seemed to convince him.
Lucius raised Rodolphus's wand to the pendant, then paused, and turned. Green light spilled forth once more, although the words of the curse were uttered very softly. Harry jumped and flinched so hard his elbow scraped the wall. Calmly, Lucius lowered his wand and turned away from Rabastan's body, now safely beyond unconscious.
"What- why?" Harry gasped.
"I'm not in the habit of leaving live enemies in my back. Or witnesses." Lucius eyed Harry with a cocked head. "Did you want him to survive?"
Harry snapped his mouth shut. Suddenly, it was colder than before.
Nodding lightly as if he'd received a reply, Lucius turned the token over on his palm, tapped it with the wand, and vanished like a ghost.
One hand pressed to his chest to calm his frantic heartbeat, Harry stumbled out into the corridor, not once looking back at the bodies behind him. He padded the familiar path to Greyback's bedroom which he'd been dragged along far too many times. In front of the door, Harry paused, shivered. Gripped the wand hard, aware of how alien it felt - harder, more slender, silkier than his own.
He pushed down the handle, toed the door open a bit and peered inside. The heat hit him like a fist. Fenrir's room, unlike Rodolphus's, was always hot as Draco dwelled there, naked. Now, there was Draco's familiar form on the bed, alone, hair tangled over his face. His cheeks and lips looked flushed. As if drawn in by Draco's face, Harry stepped across the threshold. Draco's eyes did not quite meet his, though. They were aimed to the side, to Harry's right-
That was when the door slammed into him, hitting Harry's head and shoulder and sending him reeling.
Stupid, stupid! he screamed at himself as a muscular arm shot out from where Greyback had been hiding behind the door. He felt it grip his hair, hurling him forward until Harry shrieked in pain while the wand was torn from his grip. It fell several feet away on the floor, while Greyback pulled Harry against his chest.
"I could smell you," Greyback hissed in his ear, pressing up against Harry's back until Harry could feel a substantial erection poking him. "Your fear... your blood." He ran calloused fingers down Harry's stomach to his thighs, prodding the welts he encountered. "Could smell Lucius all over you."
Draco let out a hitched little sob as Greyback wrapped his arm around Harry's throat, slowly, giving him time to feel the muscles tighten. Cold sweat ran down Harry's spine, stinging the sores Lucius's crop and cane had left there.
"Well, Potter, it was fun while it lasted."
Fenrir's arm tightened around Harry's throat, squeezing like before, only that this time it was no game - this time, Greyback would not stop. Harry twisted in the crushing grip, his heels kicking at the werewolf's knees, nails gauging into Greyback's arm, but the grip did not loosen. Instead, Greyback pressed harder, almost crushing Harry's solar plexus. A singeing pain ran up from Harry's neckbone to chin.
A sound, dulled to a whine through the blood pounding in his ears, and then Greyback stumbled, swaying backwards.
Harry could hear the werewolf roaring and brought his heel down on his foot with all the force he could muster. He heard the crack of bone, another muffled roar, and this time he managed to force Greyback's arm away from his throat. His neck ached viciously, but still he managed to scramble away.
Somehow, Draco had retrieved the belt Greyback had been so fond of using on them, and had looped it around the werewolf's neck from behind. Now, he was pulling at it with inhuman strength, one knee pressed into Greyback's back for leverage. Blond strands whipped his face, which was pink with exertion. A mad light shone in his eyes.
Greyback threw himself backwards, intending to crush his smaller opponent with his body weight, but Malfoy slithered away, letting go of the belt as he did. Fenrir tore it from his neck. He was reaching for Draco when Harry barrelled into him with all his might, knocking the werewolf back onto the bed. Malfoy dove to the floor, out of reach of the claws.
One of Greyback's flailing arms caught the side of Harry's head. He saw stars for a moment, and fell sideways. Greyback's bulk rose from the bed, looming over him, and the towering rage on his face had Harry cowering in primal terror.
Then Malfoy surged up from the floor, grasping the wand Harry had dropped. There was no spell. Greyback reached for Harry, grabbing him by the throat while the wand shuddered, morphed until it was a shiny blade in Draco's hand. Greyback screamed when it caught him in the side. He dropped Harry like a hot potato, eyes wide with disbelief. Even when the knife was yanked out and Malfoy stabbed him again low in the stomach, he seemed unable to fathom the change that had come over his cringing 'pet'.
Harry scrambled backwards to get out of reach, one hand clasped over his burning throat, frantically searching for a weapon to come to Draco's aid. He didn't need to. Two vicious slashes turned the werewolf's face into a bloodied mask. Greyback howled, raising both hands to cover his blinded eyes while Draco hacked at his chest and throat until the man's bulk toppled backwards, turning to shield his face and stomach against the mattress.
Draco stabbed the knife into his back until even the small moves of Greyback's legs stopped, and then just struck again and again, neck, buttocks, thighs, until all that was left was a bloody mass.
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled hoarsely, pulling on Draco's arm. Then, "Draco!" when neither words nor force served to drag Malfoy off his victim. There was blood smeared over his hands up to the elbow, and red drops dotted his chest and chin. More soaked slowly into the mattress, a spreading black stain.
At pains not to be nicked himself, Harry wrestled the knife from Draco's fingers and watched it return to its original wand shape. He pulled Malfoy away from Greyback's corpse and drew the trembling, seething body into his arms.
"It's all right," he whispered, trying not to gag when the smell of blood and the full reality of what they'd done hit him. "He's dead. It's over."
Malfoy's hectic breaths turned watery until they were almost sobs, and Harry feared he'd break down or become hysterical. He stroked Draco's cheek and placed a kiss on the crown of the blond head, feeling utterly out of his depth.
Then Draco's head jerked up and a bit of clarity returned to the wild eyes. "My mother! God, Potter, I-"
"It's all right," Harry repeated quickly. "Lu- your father is getting her. It'll be fine."
"My father." Malfoy shivered, causing Harry to tighten his arms around the slight body once more. Then he pushed him back gently.
"Can you get up? We need to get out of here."
After a long moment, Malfoy stood on wobbly legs, and nodded.
Leaving Draco to himself for a moment, Harry darted to the corner of the room where Fenrir had kicked his trousers a few weeks before. Thankfully, the werewolf had been a miserable housekeeper. He pulled them on, hissing when the fabric rubbed over the welts on his back and thighs, but almost in tears afterwards at the feeling of being dressed after so long.
He wished he had something to cover Draco with as well, but there wasn't even a sheet over the bloodstained mattress. The teeth-marked gloves were useless, and Harry was definitely not going near Fenrir's bloody trousers. Instead, he gripped his wand tightly, turned his back on the body and took Draco's hand, pulling him towards the door.
They made it out into the dim corridor, past the cupboard under the stairs that had been Harry's prison for so long. Harry steered Draco towards the kitchen rather than the dining room with its bodies. When he heard a cloak rustle, he whipped around, wand raised and stepping in front of Draco. He only lowered it a fraction when Lucius Malfoy appeared at the foot of the stairs. Then Harry almost dropped it at the sight of the red head behind him.
"Ron!"
Relief hit him so hard that he felt his face scrunching up and tears burning in his eyes. Ron looked unharmed, although his face was so pale that his freckles stood out like bruises. His lips were swollen. His mouth split into a grin when he saw Harry, but then he stepped back to let a slight figure precede him.
Seeing Narcissa Malfoy was not quite as much of a relief as seeing Ron, but something loosened inside Harry's chest, for Draco's sake.
Both her and Ron wore identical plain black robes. Narcissa's was drowning her slender figure and trailing behind her bare feet, Ron's barely reached his ankles. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know whose closet they'd been raiding, or why. Narcissa looked wild, with a cloud of moon-coloured hair tousled against the black of the robe, her fingers clenching as if she was trying to conjure a wand to her hand by sheer force of will. Then she glanced over Harry's shoulder, saw Draco, and practically flew over to kneel beside him.
Draco let out a little sob, averting his face and almost recoiling before he let her draw him into her arms and rested an exhausted head on her shoulder. Lucius handed her a black bundle which turned out to be another identical robe without quite trying to step closer. Narcissa spread the cloth around Draco's shoulders, trying to smooth down his hair. Harry caught Lucius's expression as his eyes alighted on Draco's head, and quickly looked away.
Gingerly, Ron put his hands on Harry's shoulders as if to embrace him, then seemed to decide against it. "Holy heck - you look like hell, mate!"
Ron's gesture and words brought back a multitude of aches. Harry's knees wobbled for a second, and he had to steady himself on Ron's arm. Ron embraced him for a moment after all.
"How are you."
A wry grin split Harry's cracked lips. "Never better."
With a frown, Ron held him at arms length, looking him over. Harry's gaze wandered back to Malfoy, still looking down at his wife and son from a distance. "It's not as bad as it looks." It was the truth, after all.
He freed himself gently, then steeled himself to take the few steps over to Lucius.
The man acknowledged him with a curt nod, lips pressed together in a way that made his chin seem even more pointed.
"The house is Sealed," he said without preamble. "I know the spell to break the Seal, but I will not exchange one prison for another."
"You're not wanted. Not really," Harry amended, blinking rapidly a few times. Exhaustion crept up on him now that the adrenaline had run its course, and he didn't want to faint at Lucius's feet. "You're still not wanted," he added at the sharp look Lucius ran over him. "But I'd still disappear for a while if I were you."
"I am planning to take my wife and son to the continent," Lucius stated as if Harry had nothing at all to do with it. "We have relatives there, and a change of scenery will help Draco... recover."
"Yeah, that'd be good." Draco had quite a bit of recovering ahead of him, Harry gathered. He and Narcissa had made it up from the floor, but Draco still stood with his head bowed, a curtain of blond hair obscuring his face while his bloody hands tried to hide in the overlong sleeves of his borrowed robe. He reeked of Fenrir, and death.
As for Harry, a few hundred miles of sea and land between Lucius and himself were the absolute minimum of what he'd need to feel safe again. Even now, the sight and presence of the man brought back the sensation of heat, peace and contentment he'd experienced under Lucius's whip at the very end.
What he'd feared and fought in Rabastan for weeks, the temptation to just let go, sign his mind and body over to another to do with as they pleased - to gain peace in surrender - Malfoy had just come by and taken. Granted, it had been what Harry had needed at the time; in the long run, it had most likely saved his life, and Ron's, and perhaps Draco's and Narcissa's as well.
But he'd broken, and Lucius had done it, had watched it and seen it for what it was. Deep, deep down, it had called to something Harry craved for. There was no telling, of course, whether one or two months in the hands of the Death Eaters had done it or whether it had always been there, but Harry needed Malfoy - both Malfoys, really - as far out of the way as possible, before Lucius decided to come back for him and try his luck once more, and Harry wound up kneeling at his heels against his best interest.
No - Malfoy would take his little gang across the Channel and Harry would return Ron to Hermione and himself to the ordinary, domestic life he'd planned with Ginny. He would learn to come to grips with his instincts during full moons and he'd try very hard to put the past weeks behind him. It could have been worse, after all - this time, no one ended up dead because of him. His gaze caught at Draco's clenched fists. He shivered. No one who mattered.
He nodded at Lucius. "Unseal the house - after that, you're free to go wherever you want."
A tiny frown appeared on Ron's forehead, but Harry shook his head at him. Ron shrugged.
Lucius raised the pendant token again, not smooth and round any longer, but blackened and half-molten as if it had lain in fire. Touching Rabastan's wand to it once more, he uttered a long phrase that sounded more Greek than Latin to Harry's ears. The token glowed, rolling in on itself and liquefying into metallic tears that dripped down and left silver stains on the carpet.
If anything, the hallway turned even darker as the grey nothingness that had once shrouded the house disappeared. But then it was night. Through the open door to the dining room, Harry could see a trickle of light outside the windows, despite the dark curtains - a streetlamp. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of that shy little twinkle, a little gleam of normality in all the madness. Exhaustion started to tear at his limbs again, and he had to steady himself against the wall.
"Go," he told Lucius, his voice shaking.
Ron took a step closer, prepared to steady Harry should he stumble. But then he paused, hesitantly watching as Narcissa helped Draco to the door, one arm around her son's waist for support. They exchanged a look over Draco's drooping head, full of something Harry knew he would never, ever ask about unless Ron came out to tell him on his own accord. Then Harry saw his best friend, who had never shown the slightest penchant for formality, bow his head. Narcissa did not smile, but she inclined her head in response.
"Good-bye, Ronald."
She pushed the door open. Outside lay a real Muggle street instead of grey fog, with quiet, red-brick houses, and trees in front gardens and more streetlamps, all achingly ordinary.
Harry watched the two blond heads disappear down the front steps, and rested his head against the wall he was leaning on.
"Go," he whispered again. It must have sounded weaker than he thought, for Ron was putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lucius. Instead, he ducked his head, like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. He could hear the man's footsteps as he passed him.
"Good-bye, Potter."
Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut, his head floating with exhaustion and emotions, until the steps grew faint and he was certain Malfoy had gone.
"Are you all right, mate?" Ron's voice sounded behind him, tense and scared.
Harry sucked in a deep breath, and forced his eyes open. Steadied himself. "I will be," he promised them both. "I will be."
~ finis ~
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. I'm only experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
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!Part 1
It turned out to be one of the better nights among those that followed. As Rabastan had promised, they did their utmost to make Harry rue his decision, and succeeded. They passed him back and forth among them, night after night, until days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, and somewhere along the way, Harry stopped caring about such things as time passing. He survived. No more, no less.
During the day and the rare night when no one wanted his company, Harry was locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, a fact that left him doubled over with hysterical laughter the first time he was shoved into it. They didn't know; Rabastan at least would have mocked him otherwise. Despite its raw brick and debris, its stuffy dark and its spiders, the cupboard held the comforts of a childhood hidey-hole. They left him his torn Auror robes as a blanket, and if they'd hoped that their choice of prison would unsettle him, they were disappointed.
They didn't starve him either. Fenrir brought in fresh and dry meats for Harry and Draco, delighted as if he was feeding a kennel of cubs; Rabastan fed Harry by hand, morsels of rich food, sweets and sometimes even wine or liqueurs, after making him beg or earn them in elaborate ways. There was a tray with sandwiches and strong tea every so often in his hole under the stairs. No, they definitely did not want him to waste away from anything that wasn't up close and personal.
Harry learned to fear Rodolphus Lestrange with a bone-deep, raw terror above all others. Not for the way he fucked. Rodolphus always took Harry face-down just as Greyback preferred, stroking his naked back and tangling his hands in Harry's hair. Harry could have borne the fucking. Inevitably, Rodolphus made sure he was hard for it, making Harry touch himself, or sometimes, kneeling behind him, fully sheathed inside Harry's arse, he would coax Harry to hardness with his own hand. As inevitably, however, when he approached climax, Rodolphus would secure Harry's hands behind his back with the tasselled cord of the bed curtain, and cast the Cruciatus Curse, letting Harry's writhing propel him to orgasm. It could last a minute, sometimes two or more, until Harry shrieked and sobbed and begged for death.
There was no way of telling what Rodolphus saw in those moments of twisted ecstasy – Harry, a random victim, Bellatrix's killer or Bellatrix herself. Though certainly not even the Lestranges, deranged as they were, would have fucked each other with the Cruciatus Curse?
Harry had quickly learned to plead after the curse had taken him by surprise that first time. 'Please don't do this again, please, I'll do anything you want...' Rodolphus just looked through him with those vacant black eyes while laying him out, binding him, as Harry cried and trembled in terror.
The mere thought of Rodolphus was enough to leave Harry sweating with fear. His brother, however, was danger of a different kind.
Rabastan had been the one who'd wanted Harry in the first place, and now he played his victory to the hilt. He took eerie delight in tying Harry to his bed, or the chaiselongue, and tormenting him for hours. Transfiguring everyday items into an assortment of sex toys just to see what they would do to Harry. Laying into him with switches, crops and paddles after ordering Harry to keep perfectly still until heat turned to pain and pain mounted to a point where Harry tried to crawl away and could then be punished for that.
The younger Lestrange reminded Harry of an overgrown boy in a toy store, and Harry made for the perfect plaything - too shiny to break or scuff up too badly, yet nothing that required much care. Like a doll you kept twisting at the joints, not quite wanting to break it, but testing how far it could bend before cracking.
Harry painfully remembered the night Rabastan had fed him potion-laced chocolates on the couch, then spread the liquid core of another over Harry's prick until the aphrodisiac left him so hard he cried, unable to bring himself off. Rabastan plied him with licks, kisses, clamps and his riding crop while an enchanted plug hummed deep inside Harry's arse, mixing pain and need and pleasure into something so potent that Harry feared he would drown in it.
He gave the man everything he asked for, did everything his too-innocent imagination could come up with that Rabastan might want for his pleasure. Craving for release, Harry spent the night bound hand and foot to the chaiselongue, incapable of touching himself and writhing from unfulfilled desire until the potion started to wear off in the early morning hours. Rabastan made a point of detouring both times he left his four poster for the bathroom to curl his hand around Harry's straining cock and bring him back to hardness until Harry had to bite his tongue not to scream abuse at the man.
Where Rodolphus just wanted him howling in agony, Rabastan wanted him obedient - jumping at every word or finger snap, kneeling gracefully, begging prettily. As much as Harry hated the man, he had to admit that Rabastan had a gift for touch, unerringly finding Harry's most sensitive and vulnerable spots. Below the agony of being denied release, however, lay the agonising, rare sweetness of being permitted. The urge of submitting, of yielding to pleasure or the lack of it, of stopping the struggle for self-control and just letting Rabastan's hands roam over him and eliminate all conscious thought. The idea scared Harry to death, but it didn't make the prospect any less seductive.
Harry must have been a godsend to cure the Lestranges' frustrations. The brothers wouldn't touch Draco, as Harry had found out when Rabastan backhanded him for asking the question, snarling to 'curb his vile Muggle imagination'. Apparently Death Eater morals forbade molesting one's nephew by marriage, but handing him over to be raped and mauled by a werewolf was all right.
Greyback himself took an unholy delight in setting Harry up above Draco, knowing how much Harry hated it. The rough sex Harry could have, well, not got used to, but borne. Being made to fuck - to hurt - Draco was agony.
The very first time Greyback had handed Harry his belt and ordered him to whip the other boy, Harry had flat-out refused. He'd shivered when the werewolf dragged him to a bedpost and bound him there with his hands behind his back, trying to anticipate what revenge he'd take. Greyback had picked up the belt, then turned to lay into Malfoy, ignoring Harry's yells of protest until Malfoy's backside was striped with red welts from shoulders to calves.
Then he spread Draco's thighs apart, arranging him just so that Harry could view him perfectly, then balled his fist, raised it as if to greet Harry, and kissed his knuckles. Harry's scream of protest when he understood was drowned out by Malfoy's terrified shrieks as Greyback greased up his hand and began to shove his fingers into the young man's unprepared hole. At one point, Harry's endless string of pleas and curses must have become tiresome, because Greyback withdrew the four fingers he'd already worked into Malfoy and strolled over to Harry, shoving a pair of discarded fingerless gloves between Harry's teeth to gag him. Unmoved by his glare, Greyback stroked his cheek with the knuckles he'd just withdrawn from Malfoy, leaving a stripe of blood and the sharp lubrication grease he was so fond of using, before kissing the corner of Harry's silenced mouth as if to heap insult on injury.
"Your decision," he murmured before returning to Malfoy, making very certain Harry could see everything that was happening.
Malfoy's screams had turned hoarse by the time Greyback had his hand worked into him in its entirety, and turned to sickening, high whines that sounded more animal than human when he balled it to a fist inside Malfoy's over-strained arse.
When it was over, Malfoy's body lay splayed on the filthy mattress like a discarded rag, so motionless that Harry feared the shock might have killed him. Perhaps it would have been merciful if it had.
Without sparing his broken victim another glance, Greyback went back to Harry, pulled the leather glove from between his clenched teeth, cut the cords that tied him to the post, and thrust the belt back into his hand.
This time, Harry used it on Malfoy's chalky flesh without a word of protest, aware that the boy was probably too far gone to feel anything, but determined to correct a mistake he would never make again.
When taking Harry in turn became boring, his captors had him waiting naked on his knees in the dining room of their claustrophobic safe-house while they played chess or Snap, the victor leading him away to his bedroom like a prize. And claustrophobic it was. There were high windows in every room, but they were hung with curtains and it was always dark when Harry was let out of his cupboard. The one time he managed to sneak a peek beyond, there was nothing outside other than a grey wall of fog. Somehow, the house had been sealed away, hidden behind some shielding magic. The Death Eaters themselves never seemed to venture outside.
After a while, they left the choice of abuser to him every so often, which rattled Harry most of all. He was too terrified to pick Rodolphus, and increasingly aware of the degree to which Rabastan's poisonous touches managed to twist him. Entering Fenrir's lair all too often meant entering Draco, but what scared Harry to the core was that he'd somehow learned to find pleasure in that. Plunging into Draco's arse, or feeling that hot, skilled mouth around his prick, brought with it a few moments of fleeting, stolen peace. A chance to forget where he was, what had become of him, even if it meant suffering Fenrir slamming into him. It was an escape that his mind resented, but his body craved it nonetheless.
Between them, they peeled his soul like an onion, shredding his defences layer by layer, and every night under their hands wound him tighter like a screw tightening towards the breaking point.
He could feel the legacy of Fenrir's teeth now, roiling inside him as it did inside Draco. The animal was mindless, destructive, a fighting instinct that roared to lash out against his tormentors, railing against being held in check - against dancing obedience to each of Rabastan's lewd commands, lying paralyzed with terror under Rodolphus's hands waiting for the curse to strike, and smelling prey on Draco's white skin. Sometimes, Harry wondered how Draco dealt with it, submitting without feeling the overwhelming rage that tore at Harry. Then he recalled the blank, smooth face that hardly came to life at all, and wondered if that was what would happened when the pressure finally broke him. It wasn't an if any longer - only a when.
He sensed the moon, stronger the second time it bloomed than the first, and not just in himself. Greyback was rougher, too, in the days before the full moon: all feral urge but with less conscious malevolence. Draco went so far as to strike Harry across the face when he tried to pet his hair for comfort once, growling until Harry trailed his hands down Draco's body, mouth travelling from belly button to the crease of Draco's thighs. It was the only time he ever got to suck Draco off, with long-fingered hands winding painfully in his hair and Draco's cock weighing down his tongue. Harry enjoyed it, even though Greyback watched and afterwards told him off for his weakness and fucked Draco hard, to remind him of his place.
Lucius Malfoy never touched Harry at all. Never spoke to him, never looked at him except with contemptuous distaste. As the weeks dragged by, with Harry spread out and torn between the three Death Eaters, it didn't leave Harry grateful. Instead, it filled him with a terrible, searing rage.
Malfoy could have demanded his share, could have offered a reprieve for an occasional night. Hell, he could have fucked him too; all that Harry wanted was a little bit of breathing space, a few hours safe in the company of someone who was not sinking hooks into his mind to see if he'd tear himself apart.
Harry's shrinking rational side objected in Lucius's favour - that he wouldn't want to fuck the man who fucked his son, that maybe he didn't get off on men, or rape - but Harry cheerfully hated him nonetheless. Hatred felt too good to give up. He could safely rage at Lucius, could hammer the rough floor of his cupboard pretending it was Lucius's face he was bashing in, where his mind would not permit him to rage at the Lestranges or Fenrir. He couldn't indulge his hatred for them, which might, in a moment of tension, spill over from fantasy to word or deed. Not when it could cost Ron's life.
Harry's fingers went up to touch the ribbon at his throat so often that it became unconscious habit, though he flinched every time Fenrir or the Lestranges fingered it to remind him of his place. The ribbon remained pristine, silky and vibrant, but there was no telling whether anything but death would do damage to it. Harry kept it carefully detached from Ron in his mind, though. He couldn't allow himself to think about Ron, about where he had been dragged off to, what was happening to him. He had to hope that tormenting him, Harry, would keep the Death Eaters busy. If he started to dwell on his fears for Ron's fate, he'd go mad.
Lucius Malfoy, however, was fair game until Harry could not lay eyes on the frost-pale hair and aristocratic features without seeing them through a pink-tinged cloud of fury. Lucius, who'd promised… well, something, and then let him down.
The rage he'd kept stoked so lovingly for weeks boiled over one early evening when he knelt on the carpet of the dining room, watching Rabastan win at Burning Snap. While Rabastan cheerfully picked up a collar from the table and snapped it around Harry's throat, Fenrir shook his singed fingers with a curse. Lucius stared in disgust at the burn mark on his embroidered sleeve while Rodolphus, having folded in time, was looking down absent-mindedly at his pile of cards.
"It looks as if poor Draco is going to have to make do with Fenrir's attentions tonight instead of enjoying Potter's tender mercies," Rabastan commented slyly. "I'm so glad you don't mind, Lucius."
Harry could see Malfoy's jaw tighten, although he managed to keep his rage off his face. "Draco's own weakness has brought about his chastisement," Lucius commented with a dismissive shrug. "It will toughen him up, and he will emerge as a stronger man."
What utter crap! Harry didn't quite dare to say that aloud, but the look he shot Malfoy across the table spoke volumes. Draco was more than half cracked already, and the only thing he'd emerge as would be a raving madman. Harry had been training to become an Auror, not a psychologist, but even he could see that.
Twirling the thin chain attached to Harry's collar between his fingers, the younger Lestrange smirked at Lucius, comfortably falling into the familiar game of needling the man. For all of Lucius's playing along as if he still was among equals, it was very clear who called the shots, and who had lost his power.
"Why else would you be passing up on our dishy little morsel here?" Rabastan petted Harry's cheek, then reached down to tweak his nipple. "If not out of pity for your own lost lamb? I've never known you to deny yourself - boys, girls… peacocks? Why not have him, then? You must be awfully frustrated."
Madness bubbled up in Harry, a heady, thrilling thing. "Yes, why don't you?" he drawled.
Rabastan and Fenrir would have beaten him to within an inch of his life if he'd looked at them with even half as much insolence, but now they leaned back without bothering to hide their smirks to watch the clash unfold. Even Rodolphus looked amused. It wasn't that Harry found Lestrange's taunts funny, far from it, but it warmed his blood to see Lucius squirm and boil under his arrogant façade. Pure madness, but Rabastan's proximity made him shudder, as if the leash he'd clasped to Harry's collar were a physical extension of the man's body. Anything to put off his fate a little longer. And if it goaded Lucius, all the better.
"I can't help but feel that for all your boasting, you haven't trained this one to obey his betters very well," Lucius remarked to his companions.
Harry looked up from where he knelt, a provocative glance from underneath half-lowered lids.
"Oh, they have taught me to obey my betters, better than you think."
Two long strides, and Lucius grabbed the chain from Rabastan's hand, who let go with a smirk. Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, the collar cutting sharply into Harry's neck. He stumbled, but caught himself.
Then Lucius's cane swung at him, catching him across the chest and knocking him back onto the worn carpet before the fireplace. Harry hissed. On his chest, a welt formed from upper arm to nipple. Malfoy raised his cane once more.
"If you're spoiling for a fight, Potter - have it."
The cane came down, smacking the side of Harry's hip, a dull flare of pain that thundered through him as if the blow had sent his hipbone ringing. He bared his teeth.
"That's not a fight," he ground out. "I can't fight back."
Stopping in mid-strike, Malfoy looked down at him, his mouth curled up in an expression that was as far from a grin as Harry had ever seen.
"Unlike my… associates, I don't need to rely on the life of your little friend to keep you in line. You think you can take me on, boy? Try!"
Harry was up and moving before the words had even properly penetrated his mind, like an animal that saw the leash sag, the cage door gaping, and the hated kennel master outside. He barely heard the cane strike his front again, although he felt it, throwing him several feet back until he broke his fall with the table edge.
Pushing himself off to lunge again, this time he managed to duck away from Malfoy's blow and landed a hit to the side of his face. Malfoy bared his teeth, hurling him away. Harry staggered back, the world spinning dizzily. The cane smashed down on his hip, a sharp, ripping pain and Harry felt blood trickle down his thigh. He landed hard on his knees again, and another fiery trail blazed across his buttocks. With Harry on the ground, Malfoy turned the cane in his hand, firmly gripping the snake handle he'd drawn blood with.
Harry had known at the back of his rational mind that he'd never stood a chance. Malfoy wouldn't have dared him if he'd posed a danger. The cane rose and fell, impacting on the fleshy parts of Harry's anatomy - buttocks, thighs, hips. A few strokes hit his back and arms and calves, and his bones groaned under them. Rabastan had beaten him often enough, but with a wooden cane that, while it stung and smarted, had had neither the weight nor the force of Lucius's solid silver. Harry twisted, hissing under the blows, then surrendered to raw cries as they kept on coming.
His flesh and bones ached, until Harry felt as if even his inner organs were bruised. He sucked in high, whiny breaths like a thirsty dog when Lucius stopped and leaned the cane against the table. From the way Harry's entire body burned, he was surprised to see it wasn't spattered with blood.
"Some things are more satisfying when done without magic," Lucius commented casually, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose from his ponytail back behind his ear. "Still, Rabastan, if you'd summon something that will discipline the young fool without breaking his bones? You've won tonight's game after all - I don't want to spoil your entertainment."
Yes, while Rodolphus and Fenrir couldn't care less whether Harry came to them with the marks of the previous night, Rabastan was quite skilled with healing charms. He preferred a blank canvas to work on. Now, there was a distinct hint of amusement in his voice.
"But of course, dear brother-in-law."
A wand flick, and one of the dinner forks on the table twitched and lengthened until Rabastan held a slender but vicious-looking riding crop which he offered to Lucius with a bow. Lucius reached for it, his attention diverted from Harry for a moment.
Gathering his fading strength, Harry threw himself around, reaching for Malfoy's ankle to bring him crashing down. The Death Eater twisted himself away at the last moment, and the foot Harry had been aiming for caught him in the stomach. Breath hissed out of Harry's lungs. He curled around the stabbing pain at his middle, seeing sparks while Malfoy tore the hem of his cloak out of his fingers.
The crop cut a thin line across Harry's left thigh. Harry groaned, reflexively pressing his palm to the cut, only to pull it back with a yelp when the crop hit the back of his hand. The next lash hit his throat, the tip biting the underside of his chin until Harry cowered down with his cheek pressed to the carpet. He shielded his face with one hand, his groin with the other. It left his back vulnerable, however, and on that Lucius went to work with a vengeance as if he, too, had nurtured his rage and was now using Harry's poor body to vent himself.
Although he tried to bear his punishment stoically, Harry found himself jerking and moaning under the flurry of blows, trying to get away from the lash. It felt as if Malfoy was splashing him with drops of liquid fire.
And then it was over. Dropping the crop, Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, then slammed him face-first into the slate-panelled wall around the fireplace. At the last second, Harry managed to turn his head aside to avoid bashing his teeth in. Instead, his face impacted from temple to chin, a jarring jolt of pain that promised to leave a nasty bruise.
Malfoy kicked his legs apart, and Harry tensed, knowing, dreading what would come. Lucius grabbed his wrists, capturing them in one hand and pulled them up behind his back until Harry let out a scream. His shoulders and arms were covered in welts, and having his arms twisted like this would have hurt like hell without the additional discomfort.
He heard cloth rustle, aware that Malfoy was undoing the front of his robes, and then he felt Malfoy's cock push forward against his unprepared hole. Harry froze, unable to struggle because Malfoy's grip on his arms was too painful.
Malfoy's cock poked his hole, guided in by Malfoy's free hand, and then Malfoy shoved himself forward so abruptly that Harry screamed against the cold stone. The force of it almost crushed his groin against the wall.
He had no time to adjust before Malfoy started to pound into him, sharp, jerky thrusts that had to hurt him nearly as much as they hurt Harry. Although Harry had become adjusted to being at the receiving end of a cock over the past weeks, he nearly crawled into the wall to escape the full force of Malfoy's rage.
Malfoy had not undone his trousers properly, nor taken off his robe, only bared the stiff flesh of his cock while the fabric of his clothes rubbed against the welts and scratches that covered Harry's entire back. Another thrust, and Harry had to push his buttocks back a little, even if it meant giving Lucius a deeper angle to penetrate him. It was the only way to prevent his limp prick from being shredded against the slate.
"Is this what you wanted, Potter?" Lucius hissed into his ear, blond hair coming free of his hair tie and falling around Harry's shoulders like a frozen waterfall. He was thrusting into Harry so hard it almost knocked all breath from Harry's lungs.
"No," Harry ground out, a wheezing sound that broke off in a hiss as Malfoy rammed into him again, bruising his hipbone against the brick.
"That's too bad, Potter. It is what you earned."
Lucius snapped his hips forward again, searing Harry's channel while his cloak flapped around them, shielding their interlocked bodies from sight. So much like wings that Harry felt wrapped up like a vampire victim, only that Malfoy was feasting on the wrong part of his body.
At least it was over quickly. Malfoy pressed himself against Harry when he came, as if to absorb his body in more ways than just the sexual, spilling deep inside him with a familiar squishy, disgusting sensation.
When he let go of Harry's wrists and pulled out, another whimper escaped Harry's throat. His arms hurt so badly he could barely feel his hands, and his arse burned like fire.
A rough shove, and Harry found himself flung back onto his knees on the carpet. Knees buckling, he almost collapsed entirely, feeling sticky semen between his thighs. Lucius walked towards him, all properly buttoned up again with the hem of his cloak whipping around his ankles. The riding crop was back in his hands.
"No!" Harry pleaded through cracked lips, too weak to move as the coil flashed over his buttocks, driving him to the floor. Lucius's boot on his hip kept him in place, kept him from protecting his groin. Harry stared up, mouth moving in soundless entreaty but Malfoy only gazed down with a slow, dark smile, then snapped the crop over Harry's upper thighs. The tip flicked against Harry's prick almost tenderly before the pain blossomed. Harry could feel his eyes spill over. His belly and legs burned under the onslaught that came even harder than before, as if Malfoy was trying to punish him for having to fuck him on top of everything else.
When Malfoy took his foot away, Harry curled up like a dying caterpillar while Malfoy went to work on his back. Writhing on the ground, Harry felt lash after lash raining down on him, until the world bloomed in pain. The rough carpet scratched his stomach raw, inflaming the welts that adorned it, scraping along his prick until he screamed in agony. Then something reared up inside him, immense and tidal, and he spilled himself onto the carpet in a drawn-out scream.
A helpless whine escaped his lips, shame so acute that he could barely hear the Death Eaters laughing at him. How could he come like this, when he'd not even noticed that he had an erection?
Even his shame was swept away by the next volley of blows. It no longer felt like a rain of fire but rather like hail that buffeted Harry's helpless body and left him too weak to think. Pain mounted, surged and then morphed into pure, unadulterated heat. It enveloped Harry, cocooning him, as if in the loving arms of a dragon who cradles its eggs before breathing life into them.
Perhaps he had burned to cinders, Harry thought faintly. Perhaps Lucius had cracked the feeble shell of his body at last, and the real Harry inside was left to float away, invisible and loved and wrapped in a sense of peace that eclipsed even the calm he'd felt in that illusionary meeting with Dumbledore at King's Cross.
But he was breathing after all, he found, and he still hurt, although for the moment, it had almost ceased to matter. His hands spread, stroking the carpet under his palm, inexplicably happy. He could feel his face twist, and wondered whether he was smiling.
He looked up, offering his face to the whip along with himself, but the blows had stopped. He could see Lucius's face bent over him - cool eyes, thin mouth, sharp chin surrounded by a halo of frosty hair. Behind him, the room was dark, or maybe Lucius was the only thing Harry still had the energy to see.
Lucius observed him with just as much interest, for a long time. Finally, he dropped the whip and shook his head. When he moved out of range, Harry felt bereft, hurt as if someone had dropped an ice cube on his chest, right above the heart. A sense of betrayal ate its way into him when Lucius turned to address the Lestranges.
"How about stringing him up until he's calmed down?" He nodded at the set of handcuffs that dangled subtly from a chain fastened to the wall. Rabastan had conjured them one evening while they played chess for Harry's body, letting him dangle there, the small key that unlocked the cuffs hung around his neck in mockery; Rabastan claimed he enjoyed the way the strain accentuated the lines of Harry's body. Afterwards, Harry had almost been grateful when Rodolphus took him down and led him towards his Spartan bedroom.
A soft cry broke from Harry's lips as his arms were wrenched up, and then the shackles closed around his wrists. He cried out again when the weight of his body pulled on them, trying to find purchase on the floor with his toes, but trembling too hard to find his balance on tiptoes. Finally, he just hung there, tears spilling down his cheeks from pain and confusion.
Lucius touched a cool hand to his burning cheek for a moment. It was wet when he pulled it away. He reached up to fasten the chains above Harry's head, then took the little key from its hook on the wall and hung it around Harry's neck. Afterwards, he sauntered over to the dining table and accepted a glass of wine from Rabastan.
"Why don't we let him cool his heels a bit," Harry heard him suggest. He watched the man drain his glass, then reach back to re-tie his hair properly. "I'm sure he will be perfectly docile later, Rabastan, once he's had time to reflect on his foolishness."
Incredulous, Harry watched them rise, Fenrir with a leer, Rabastan with a dry chuckle and an expression that almost, but not entirely, amounted to respect. Lucius was the last to leave. His eyes travelled over Harry's body, then up to his face. He held Harry's gaze for a short moment. Then he turned and switched off the light.
Harry hung there alone in the dark, small sobs hitching in his throat, his arms trying to tear themselves from their sockets. His toes were scuffling over the carpet, straining to support his body. He managed, for a moment, then sobbed as he slipped and slumped again.
In a sudden fit of rage, he tore at the chains, only to be rewarded with a dull rattle. Then something slipped, a hard little jolt. Harry froze and looked up. The chain that connected the handcuffs was fastened far above his head, running through a cast-iron ring. Only that now, it didn't. The ring itself was there, screwed to the wall, but the chain was looped over it, not running through as it was supposed to be. If Malfoy...
No, Malfoy must have forgotten to secure it safely when Rabastan's magic had hoisted Harry up. It was the only thing that made sense.
Harry tried to calm his frantic heartbeat and took deep breaths. If he could get up on his toes again, he might be able to dislodge the chain. The little key to the cuffs burned on his chest.
It took three attempts, each of which left Harry covered in fresh sweat and nearly tore his shoulder muscles before another jerk forward brought the chain slipping down over the ring at least. He crashed to the floor, bruising his knees, but triumph heated the inside of his stomach. With a wild grin on his face, he fumbled for the key. It took several tries before his slippery, shaking fingers managed to unlock the shackles around his wrists. Then he was free.
Free and trembling and bruised all over. Harry pulled himself to his feet and risked another glimpse behind the nearest curtain. Still nothing but grey. The door would be sealed as well, no doubt. A Fidelius variant - they'd heard about them in Auror training, but hadn't learned how to break them yet.
For all his aches and pains, Harry's mind was clear in a way it hadn't been since he'd seen Draco naked on Greyback's bed, as if Lucius's whipping had not just forced his seed from him, but also exorcised the miasma of fear and rage he'd struggled against.
Despite being naked and hurt and probably operating in a state of shock, he knew this was the best chance he'd get at making a run for it. He turned the cuffs over in his hands, studying the marks they had left on his wrists. If he tried to escape now, he might die, and Ron with him. If he did not, he would suffer, and continue to suffer, until they killed him or turned him into something as vile as his captors. And now, after Lucius had stripped him to the core for all to see, he could not go back.
The sound of the door handle being pushed down turned his thoughts moot in a heartbeat. Harry whirled around to see Rabastan in the doorway, cradled by the lamplight from the corridor. For a second, Harry didn't know who looked more surprised, he or the Death Eater. Rabastan, come back to get him?
Rabastan's hand dropped to his belt with the speed of a trained duellist, and Harry sent the shackles flying towards him. Fuelled by adrenaline, they caught the Death Eater right in the face, cutting off his "Stup-" in mid-syllable. Rabastan swayed and dropped on one knee. Harry was on him in a heartbeat, hands folded into a fist. He slammed them against Rabastan's temple, then did it again for good measure before allowing the man to slump to the floor. Where it wasn't bruised, Lestrange's face was white and slack. Harry didn't want to touch him to feel for a pulse, but he could see his chest rising.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Rabastan under the arms and pulled him out of sight behind the table. A vicious little voice inside him suggested stringing him up in Harry's place, but he squashed it. Harry confiscated the fallen wand, feeling a little shiver of pleasure at the familiar sensation of wood under his palm. He went through the man's pockets, discovering a silver pendant with arcane symbols. He wrapped its chain tightly around his wrist despite the raw, bloody skin the chains had left there. Part of him wanted to take the Death Eater's robe as well to cover his nakedness, but before he could bring himself to undress the man, a harsh cry sounded from the doorway.
Harry's head flew up and he raised Rabastan's wand. Something flared in his chest when he looked into Rodolphus's face, staring down incredulously at his fallen brother and at Harry kneeling over him. Behind him stood Lucius Malfoy, unmistakable by his hair.
Although a curse curling on his tongue, Harry's muscles seized when he saw Rodolphus's wand aimed at his face. He couldn't move, mind and body awash with the memory of the Cruciatus Curse. He'd never been literally paralysed with fear, but he was now, even knowing he would die if he didn't move. But he couldn't make his body stir. He just squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for death.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light spilled against Harry's closed eyelids, hissing off the walls. Harry had died before, and knew that Voldemort had been right in the end - it hadn't hurt at all. It didn't hurt this time either, only that, unlike before, Harry had no protection left. This would be the end. Then something hit the floor with a thud, and he realised he was alive enough to open his eyes.
Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, alone, Harry's wand in hand. He was staring from the toppled form of Rodolphus on the ground to Harry with an expression of impatient distaste.
"You-" Harry started, before his voice broke and stuttered. "Thank you."
He barely managed to look at Rodolphus, whose lanky black hair obscured his face, but Malfoy had no such compulsions. He went down on one knee, grabbing Lestrange's wand where it had fallen from his fingers, and searched through the pockets of his robe. Whatever he'd hoped to find, his hands came up empty.
Harry hesitated for a long moment before opening his fist and revealing the pendant he'd taken from Rabastan.
"That's what you're looking for, isn't it?" He tried not to squint too obviously at his wand in Lucius's grip.
"The portkey." Lucius's voice sounded harsh, hungry, and the tone sent shivers down Harry's back. There was a warmth in his belly that shouldn't have been there, not now, not with this man.
"Ron and your wife? They're all right?" Harry's stomach fluttered with nerves. His hand went up to the ribbon around his throat.
"I hope so," Lucius replied.
"Well, go find them, then!" Harry growled when Lucius made no move, and dropped the pendant in his hand. The temptation to use it to rescue Ron himself was almost overwhelming, but he'd never encountered this sort of Fidelius magic before, much less tried to break it. "I'll get Draco."
He didn't mention Ron's name again, and neither did Lucius, but his spectre stood between them just as clearly as Harry knew that his own slim chance of escape would die with Draco.
Still, he held the man's eyes, and whatever the former Death Eater saw in him, other than a battered young man too exhausted to stand upright, it seemed to convince him.
Lucius raised Rodolphus's wand to the pendant, then paused, and turned. Green light spilled forth once more, although the words of the curse were uttered very softly. Harry jumped and flinched so hard his elbow scraped the wall. Calmly, Lucius lowered his wand and turned away from Rabastan's body, now safely beyond unconscious.
"What- why?" Harry gasped.
"I'm not in the habit of leaving live enemies in my back. Or witnesses." Lucius eyed Harry with a cocked head. "Did you want him to survive?"
Harry snapped his mouth shut. Suddenly, it was colder than before.
Nodding lightly as if he'd received a reply, Lucius turned the token over on his palm, tapped it with the wand, and vanished like a ghost.
One hand pressed to his chest to calm his frantic heartbeat, Harry stumbled out into the corridor, not once looking back at the bodies behind him. He padded the familiar path to Greyback's bedroom which he'd been dragged along far too many times. In front of the door, Harry paused, shivered. Gripped the wand hard, aware of how alien it felt - harder, more slender, silkier than his own.
He pushed down the handle, toed the door open a bit and peered inside. The heat hit him like a fist. Fenrir's room, unlike Rodolphus's, was always hot as Draco dwelled there, naked. Now, there was Draco's familiar form on the bed, alone, hair tangled over his face. His cheeks and lips looked flushed. As if drawn in by Draco's face, Harry stepped across the threshold. Draco's eyes did not quite meet his, though. They were aimed to the side, to Harry's right-
That was when the door slammed into him, hitting Harry's head and shoulder and sending him reeling.
Stupid, stupid! he screamed at himself as a muscular arm shot out from where Greyback had been hiding behind the door. He felt it grip his hair, hurling him forward until Harry shrieked in pain while the wand was torn from his grip. It fell several feet away on the floor, while Greyback pulled Harry against his chest.
"I could smell you," Greyback hissed in his ear, pressing up against Harry's back until Harry could feel a substantial erection poking him. "Your fear... your blood." He ran calloused fingers down Harry's stomach to his thighs, prodding the welts he encountered. "Could smell Lucius all over you."
Draco let out a hitched little sob as Greyback wrapped his arm around Harry's throat, slowly, giving him time to feel the muscles tighten. Cold sweat ran down Harry's spine, stinging the sores Lucius's crop and cane had left there.
"Well, Potter, it was fun while it lasted."
Fenrir's arm tightened around Harry's throat, squeezing like before, only that this time it was no game - this time, Greyback would not stop. Harry twisted in the crushing grip, his heels kicking at the werewolf's knees, nails gauging into Greyback's arm, but the grip did not loosen. Instead, Greyback pressed harder, almost crushing Harry's solar plexus. A singeing pain ran up from Harry's neckbone to chin.
A sound, dulled to a whine through the blood pounding in his ears, and then Greyback stumbled, swaying backwards.
Harry could hear the werewolf roaring and brought his heel down on his foot with all the force he could muster. He heard the crack of bone, another muffled roar, and this time he managed to force Greyback's arm away from his throat. His neck ached viciously, but still he managed to scramble away.
Somehow, Draco had retrieved the belt Greyback had been so fond of using on them, and had looped it around the werewolf's neck from behind. Now, he was pulling at it with inhuman strength, one knee pressed into Greyback's back for leverage. Blond strands whipped his face, which was pink with exertion. A mad light shone in his eyes.
Greyback threw himself backwards, intending to crush his smaller opponent with his body weight, but Malfoy slithered away, letting go of the belt as he did. Fenrir tore it from his neck. He was reaching for Draco when Harry barrelled into him with all his might, knocking the werewolf back onto the bed. Malfoy dove to the floor, out of reach of the claws.
One of Greyback's flailing arms caught the side of Harry's head. He saw stars for a moment, and fell sideways. Greyback's bulk rose from the bed, looming over him, and the towering rage on his face had Harry cowering in primal terror.
Then Malfoy surged up from the floor, grasping the wand Harry had dropped. There was no spell. Greyback reached for Harry, grabbing him by the throat while the wand shuddered, morphed until it was a shiny blade in Draco's hand. Greyback screamed when it caught him in the side. He dropped Harry like a hot potato, eyes wide with disbelief. Even when the knife was yanked out and Malfoy stabbed him again low in the stomach, he seemed unable to fathom the change that had come over his cringing 'pet'.
Harry scrambled backwards to get out of reach, one hand clasped over his burning throat, frantically searching for a weapon to come to Draco's aid. He didn't need to. Two vicious slashes turned the werewolf's face into a bloodied mask. Greyback howled, raising both hands to cover his blinded eyes while Draco hacked at his chest and throat until the man's bulk toppled backwards, turning to shield his face and stomach against the mattress.
Draco stabbed the knife into his back until even the small moves of Greyback's legs stopped, and then just struck again and again, neck, buttocks, thighs, until all that was left was a bloody mass.
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled hoarsely, pulling on Draco's arm. Then, "Draco!" when neither words nor force served to drag Malfoy off his victim. There was blood smeared over his hands up to the elbow, and red drops dotted his chest and chin. More soaked slowly into the mattress, a spreading black stain.
At pains not to be nicked himself, Harry wrestled the knife from Draco's fingers and watched it return to its original wand shape. He pulled Malfoy away from Greyback's corpse and drew the trembling, seething body into his arms.
"It's all right," he whispered, trying not to gag when the smell of blood and the full reality of what they'd done hit him. "He's dead. It's over."
Malfoy's hectic breaths turned watery until they were almost sobs, and Harry feared he'd break down or become hysterical. He stroked Draco's cheek and placed a kiss on the crown of the blond head, feeling utterly out of his depth.
Then Draco's head jerked up and a bit of clarity returned to the wild eyes. "My mother! God, Potter, I-"
"It's all right," Harry repeated quickly. "Lu- your father is getting her. It'll be fine."
"My father." Malfoy shivered, causing Harry to tighten his arms around the slight body once more. Then he pushed him back gently.
"Can you get up? We need to get out of here."
After a long moment, Malfoy stood on wobbly legs, and nodded.
Leaving Draco to himself for a moment, Harry darted to the corner of the room where Fenrir had kicked his trousers a few weeks before. Thankfully, the werewolf had been a miserable housekeeper. He pulled them on, hissing when the fabric rubbed over the welts on his back and thighs, but almost in tears afterwards at the feeling of being dressed after so long.
He wished he had something to cover Draco with as well, but there wasn't even a sheet over the bloodstained mattress. The teeth-marked gloves were useless, and Harry was definitely not going near Fenrir's bloody trousers. Instead, he gripped his wand tightly, turned his back on the body and took Draco's hand, pulling him towards the door.
They made it out into the dim corridor, past the cupboard under the stairs that had been Harry's prison for so long. Harry steered Draco towards the kitchen rather than the dining room with its bodies. When he heard a cloak rustle, he whipped around, wand raised and stepping in front of Draco. He only lowered it a fraction when Lucius Malfoy appeared at the foot of the stairs. Then Harry almost dropped it at the sight of the red head behind him.
"Ron!"
Relief hit him so hard that he felt his face scrunching up and tears burning in his eyes. Ron looked unharmed, although his face was so pale that his freckles stood out like bruises. His lips were swollen. His mouth split into a grin when he saw Harry, but then he stepped back to let a slight figure precede him.
Seeing Narcissa Malfoy was not quite as much of a relief as seeing Ron, but something loosened inside Harry's chest, for Draco's sake.
Both her and Ron wore identical plain black robes. Narcissa's was drowning her slender figure and trailing behind her bare feet, Ron's barely reached his ankles. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know whose closet they'd been raiding, or why. Narcissa looked wild, with a cloud of moon-coloured hair tousled against the black of the robe, her fingers clenching as if she was trying to conjure a wand to her hand by sheer force of will. Then she glanced over Harry's shoulder, saw Draco, and practically flew over to kneel beside him.
Draco let out a little sob, averting his face and almost recoiling before he let her draw him into her arms and rested an exhausted head on her shoulder. Lucius handed her a black bundle which turned out to be another identical robe without quite trying to step closer. Narcissa spread the cloth around Draco's shoulders, trying to smooth down his hair. Harry caught Lucius's expression as his eyes alighted on Draco's head, and quickly looked away.
Gingerly, Ron put his hands on Harry's shoulders as if to embrace him, then seemed to decide against it. "Holy heck - you look like hell, mate!"
Ron's gesture and words brought back a multitude of aches. Harry's knees wobbled for a second, and he had to steady himself on Ron's arm. Ron embraced him for a moment after all.
"How are you."
A wry grin split Harry's cracked lips. "Never better."
With a frown, Ron held him at arms length, looking him over. Harry's gaze wandered back to Malfoy, still looking down at his wife and son from a distance. "It's not as bad as it looks." It was the truth, after all.
He freed himself gently, then steeled himself to take the few steps over to Lucius.
The man acknowledged him with a curt nod, lips pressed together in a way that made his chin seem even more pointed.
"The house is Sealed," he said without preamble. "I know the spell to break the Seal, but I will not exchange one prison for another."
"You're not wanted. Not really," Harry amended, blinking rapidly a few times. Exhaustion crept up on him now that the adrenaline had run its course, and he didn't want to faint at Lucius's feet. "You're still not wanted," he added at the sharp look Lucius ran over him. "But I'd still disappear for a while if I were you."
"I am planning to take my wife and son to the continent," Lucius stated as if Harry had nothing at all to do with it. "We have relatives there, and a change of scenery will help Draco... recover."
"Yeah, that'd be good." Draco had quite a bit of recovering ahead of him, Harry gathered. He and Narcissa had made it up from the floor, but Draco still stood with his head bowed, a curtain of blond hair obscuring his face while his bloody hands tried to hide in the overlong sleeves of his borrowed robe. He reeked of Fenrir, and death.
As for Harry, a few hundred miles of sea and land between Lucius and himself were the absolute minimum of what he'd need to feel safe again. Even now, the sight and presence of the man brought back the sensation of heat, peace and contentment he'd experienced under Lucius's whip at the very end.
What he'd feared and fought in Rabastan for weeks, the temptation to just let go, sign his mind and body over to another to do with as they pleased - to gain peace in surrender - Malfoy had just come by and taken. Granted, it had been what Harry had needed at the time; in the long run, it had most likely saved his life, and Ron's, and perhaps Draco's and Narcissa's as well.
But he'd broken, and Lucius had done it, had watched it and seen it for what it was. Deep, deep down, it had called to something Harry craved for. There was no telling, of course, whether one or two months in the hands of the Death Eaters had done it or whether it had always been there, but Harry needed Malfoy - both Malfoys, really - as far out of the way as possible, before Lucius decided to come back for him and try his luck once more, and Harry wound up kneeling at his heels against his best interest.
No - Malfoy would take his little gang across the Channel and Harry would return Ron to Hermione and himself to the ordinary, domestic life he'd planned with Ginny. He would learn to come to grips with his instincts during full moons and he'd try very hard to put the past weeks behind him. It could have been worse, after all - this time, no one ended up dead because of him. His gaze caught at Draco's clenched fists. He shivered. No one who mattered.
He nodded at Lucius. "Unseal the house - after that, you're free to go wherever you want."
A tiny frown appeared on Ron's forehead, but Harry shook his head at him. Ron shrugged.
Lucius raised the pendant token again, not smooth and round any longer, but blackened and half-molten as if it had lain in fire. Touching Rabastan's wand to it once more, he uttered a long phrase that sounded more Greek than Latin to Harry's ears. The token glowed, rolling in on itself and liquefying into metallic tears that dripped down and left silver stains on the carpet.
If anything, the hallway turned even darker as the grey nothingness that had once shrouded the house disappeared. But then it was night. Through the open door to the dining room, Harry could see a trickle of light outside the windows, despite the dark curtains - a streetlamp. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of that shy little twinkle, a little gleam of normality in all the madness. Exhaustion started to tear at his limbs again, and he had to steady himself against the wall.
"Go," he told Lucius, his voice shaking.
Ron took a step closer, prepared to steady Harry should he stumble. But then he paused, hesitantly watching as Narcissa helped Draco to the door, one arm around her son's waist for support. They exchanged a look over Draco's drooping head, full of something Harry knew he would never, ever ask about unless Ron came out to tell him on his own accord. Then Harry saw his best friend, who had never shown the slightest penchant for formality, bow his head. Narcissa did not smile, but she inclined her head in response.
"Good-bye, Ronald."
She pushed the door open. Outside lay a real Muggle street instead of grey fog, with quiet, red-brick houses, and trees in front gardens and more streetlamps, all achingly ordinary.
Harry watched the two blond heads disappear down the front steps, and rested his head against the wall he was leaning on.
"Go," he whispered again. It must have sounded weaker than he thought, for Ron was putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lucius. Instead, he ducked his head, like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. He could hear the man's footsteps as he passed him.
"Good-bye, Potter."
Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut, his head floating with exhaustion and emotions, until the steps grew faint and he was certain Malfoy had gone.
"Are you all right, mate?" Ron's voice sounded behind him, tense and scared.
Harry sucked in a deep breath, and forced his eyes open. Steadied himself. "I will be," he promised them both. "I will be."
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. I'm only experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.