Title: "Break Before We Fall"
Setting: Summer after sixth year, ignore Horcrux, Malfoy Manor
Warnings: Slash: dubcon and noncon, character death (for once it's not Harry), a little OOC
Pairings: Dubcon: HPDM, DMHP, and SSHP Noncon: LVDM and LVHP, One Sided: SSDM
Summary: After his failure 6th year, Voldemort assigns Draco to aid Severus in creating a potion that will enable men to have children. After the successful completion of the Mpreg potion, Voldemort kidnaps Harry and plans on making Harry and Draco produce his heirs. Draco warns Harry, and though they hate each other, they decide on the lesser of two evils.
Author's Note: This was originally going to be the first part of 4 part story, but I lost my notes on the other 3 parts and can't remember what I wanted to happen, so I'm posting this as a one shot instead. Perhaps, in time, I'll continue it.
UchiSays: Hey everyone, I hope you're all well. For those of you who are waiting impatiently for me to keep my promises, I'd like to tell you that Awkward Silence will be updated within the next week or so, and if it's not you have permission to spam my inbox and e-mail (itami4itachi (at) gmail) until I do update it. Hush, Little Baby will be updated within the next two weeks. And I'm currently writing a Snarry one-shot time travel thingamajig that will be posted within the next month (no promises on that one). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this story because it took me over a year of on-again-off-again working to write it. Love you all.
Break Before We Fall
Part I
Sometimes the Choices We Make…
He was hot... no, he was more than hot; he was burning. Fire was running through his veins. Bright, searing, hot fire that set his blood boiling. Red hot flames that melted his flesh from his bones. He was in a furnace. He was on the sun. Part of him knew that he wasn't really on fire, but the heat had fried his brain too much to string together a coherent thought. So hot, this had to be a new form of torture, a blistering torment devised to kill him through spontaneous combustion. Surely the heat was high enough to make his flesh combustible.
But, though the heat was bad, the worst part was the thirst. He was so thirsty! The heat had dried up all the water within him, leaving his throat and mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. His throat was so dry, it hurt just to breathe. His lips were cracked, but it was too hot to bleed.
And then someone touched him, and if he thought he was feverish before, then he was lying on a beach in Hades now. So much heat came from that little touch of skin against his skin, all he wanted to do was open his mouth and scream, but his throat was too arid for that. He was vaguely aware of someone making soothing noises in his ear, but his brain had short-circuited from the heat a long time ago. Something was being pressed against his lips, and he'd no strength to resist. But, as if the gods were suddenly on his side, it was ice cold water being poured into his mouth and washing the metaphorical sand from his throat. And, even better, an equally wet/cold towel was being pressed against his fevered forehead; making the impossible heat seem just a little bit better.
"Sleep," the soothing voice said, "the heat will be gone soon."
It wasn't as if he had the strength to do anything else, so he allowed himself to be guided into a lying down position and welcomed the relief from the heat offered by unconsciousness.
It was the pain that woke him up.
Sharp pains like knives through his belly. He absently noted that the unbearably heat was gone, but he was more worried about the throbbing pain coming from his lower abdomen. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as his arms wrapped themselves around his stomach to protect against whatever was inflicting the pain... but the pain was internal. His insides were brutally tearing themselves apart. It hurt so much it almost felt numb. The numbness that came from over stimulation of the pain threshold. A numbness that wasn't really numbness at all, but a higher, more acute sense of agony. It was the same as the scream so loud that it was silent. The very same scream pushing itself from his throat now.
What the hell was going on? First the heat, now the pain... what had he done to warrant this punishment?
Hot tears spilled from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he tossed and turned, trying to escape the torment that kept following him. "Shh," someone whispered, carding fingers through his hair. "I know it hurts, but it'll be over soon." He whimpered in pain, but couldn't help but finding comfort in the soft voice and gentle touch.
"Hurts," he rasped out.
"I know," the voice said. "I'm so sorry." Fingers continued carding through his hair and more kind words were whispered into his ear. He found that if he focused only on the voice and fingers in his hair, he could almost forget about the pain, almost convince himself it wasn't real. Almost, but not completely, though enough to allow himself to fall back to sleep.
This time he was woken by someone shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
He didn't want to wake; he was more than content to float through this painless unconsciousness that he was resting in now. It seemed so long since anything had been painless. He didn't want to leave the blissful black nothingness that he's finally found after a seeming eternity of searching. But someone was determined to pull him from his hard-found solitude.
"Come on, Potter," the voice said, still shaking his shoulder urgently. "You need to wake up, now. Come on. Wake up!"
Consciousness settled over him like a thick, suffocating blanket. Harry blinked his eyes open slowly, groaning at the light—not overly bright, but an obvious shift from the blackness of sleep—that assaulted his retinas.
"Come on, Potter, wake up!" The voice sounded familiar now and with the sluggish mind of one who has slept too long or not enough, Harry managed to connect the voice with the person he could now see leaning over him. Of course comprehension was even slower arriving, and its arrival made Harry wonder if he was not still sleeping after all. But of course he wasn't still sleeping, because this person wasn't going to allow him to sleep even if said person's presence in Harry's room was an impossibility.
Then again, Harry wasn't in his room, was he? The smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive was, obviously, small and did not contain dark wood paneled walls, parquet flooring, with expensively ancient rugs, and a king sized bed donned with dark brown and red bed-covers. And the smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive most definitely did not contain a pest known as Draco Malfoy who seemed to have taken on the role of Harry's personal alarm clock. So that only left one question.
"Where am I?"
"Thank Merlin, you're awake." Draco Malfoy was visibly relieved as he sat up and away from Harry.
"Malfoy," Harry said, sitting up in the large bed he'd been sleeping in and looking at his schoolmate in confusion. Harry had been having mixed feelings about the Malfoy heir ever since that night in the Astronomy Tower, when the blond had been about to lower his wand and accept Dumbledore's help. The Draco Malfoy that Harry had seen that night did not correspond at all with the Draco Malfoy that Harry had known since he was eleven. The Malfoy of the past would not have been so torn up about the events of that night, and Harry was partially convinced that the Malfoy of the past only existed in the carefully constructed mask the Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower had been forced to wear.
"Where are we?" Harry asked again.
"In hell," Malfoy stated simply. "Or as close as we'll get to hell while still living. What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
Harry thought about it for a second. "I remember being hot and pain, lots of pain."
"In your lower abdomen?" Draco phrased it like a question, but it was evident he already knew it as fact. "That was still here, think back farther than that."
Harry squeezed his eyes closed and focused on retrieving his last memory before the heat and the pain, but still all he could get was little flashes that didn't quite make up a whole picture. "I was shaking my cousin's hand. Then it felt like I was standing in a house of mirrors, surrounded by replicas of me. There was flying with Hagrid. Then Hedwig was dead."
"They were trying to move you to a safe location," Draco offered. "But somehow the information got out. You were ambushed. You were captured."
"Captured?" Harry couldn't quite understand.
"Yes, captured. You're in Malfoy Manor, Potter. You're the Dark Lord's prisoner. We're the Dark Lord's prisoners."
The news set in slowly, but looking around made Harry see the obvious truth it held. He was definitely not on Privet Drive anymore, this room was too large to be a part of the Burrow, and Draco Malfoy would not be allowed in Grimmauld Place. So Malfoy had to be speaking the truth. He was at Malfoy Manor. He was a prisoner. They were prisoners together. This was hell.
"How long?" he asked. Harry wasn't sure he was asking how long he'd been there, or how long it would be until the Dark Lord came for him.
"A week." Harry didn't know which question Draco was answering or if he was answering both.
"Why so long? Why am I not dead already?"
Draco sighed and stood up from the bed. As the blond began to pace around the room, Harry couldn't help but notice how haggard he looked. It look like Draco had slept in the clothes he was wearing, his hair was greasy and messy, his skin was paler than usual, there was bags under his eyes, and he seemed to emit and air of tired desolation and remorse.
"I screwed up," Draco stated, he paced across the parquet floor in front of the bed, while running fingers through his hair. "Last school year, I screwed up. I was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but I failed. The Dark Lord wasn't pleased with me. I thought he was going to kill me, until Uncle Sev stepped in and asked that I be allowed to assist him in the creation of a potion. Apparently the Dark Lord wanted that potion more than he wanted me dead, so I got off with a couple of Crucios then got sent to work as Sev's personal potion's assistant. We were given until the middle of July to develop a potion that the Dark Lord really wanted. Three weeks ago, we succeeded. Two weeks ago, tomorrow, the Dark Lord forced me to drink it."
"What does the potion do?"
Malfoy stopped pacing and turned empty eyes onto Harry. One of his hands began drifting towards his stomach, before Malfoy seemed to catch what he was doing, balled the hand into a fist, and forced it back to his side.
"It was a male pregnancy potion. The Dark Lord gave us the task of creating a potion that would enable men to carry children. The potion takes a week to work its way through your system, changing your anatomy and messing with hormone levels. You'll be unconscious for most of that week, and incoherent for the rest of it. All you'll be aware of is at first heat and then pain."
"Do you mean?" Harry couldn't bring himself to finish the question. Heat and pain, surely not.
Draco nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Harry. The Dark Lord has no intentions of killing either of us, because he wants us to bear his heirs."
Draco's tone was of one who'd just announced his own impending execution, and Harry couldn't help but think execution would be preferable to this. His first instincts were the reject the news and call Draco a liar, but slowly and reluctantly he accepted that Draco was speaking the truth because the blond really had no reason to lie to him. Still, Harry couldn't bring himself to even think about the implications of that statement.
"We told the Dark Lord that it took two weeks after consumption for the potion to fully take effect. Honestly, as soon as the transformation is completed after the first week the potion is ready to work. We thought to buy whatever unwilling victims the Dark Lord decided to force-feed the potion an extra seven days in hopes that they would be able to escape before..." Draco let the sentence trail off, but Harry knew what he'd meant to say. An extra seven days before they would become the Dark Lord's unwilling bed partner, and that was putting it mildly.
"But that means..."
Draco nodded solemnly. Tomorrow it would have been two weeks to the day since he'd been given the potion; Draco's time was up. "I never intended on being that Dark Lord's victim, but when he fed me the potion I never held hopes of escape. This is retribution for all the wrongs I've done."
Harry looked at Draco in shock. "Malfoy—Draco, no one deserves this. No one should have to be subjected to what's coming for the two of us."
"Even if that was true, what could I do about it?" Malfoy said. "No one's going to save me, especially after what I've done. The entire world hates me and anyone else unfortunate enough to carry the Malfoy name. Even if I was saved from here, I'd just be sent straight to Azkaban. I know you have a hero complex, Potter, but you're in the same position I am. I've accepted my fate; maybe you should, too."
"Surely even Azkaban would be better than becoming Voldemort's whore and broodmare! Unless you want to carry your precious Dark Lord's children?"
"He's not my Dark Lord; he's my father's and contrary to popular belief, I am not a clone of my father; just as I'm sure you're not a clone of yours. And trust me, Potter, I can think of a lot of people I'd be more willing to bare the children of than the Dark Lord. Hell, even you're more favorable than him. But sometimes you're the dog and sometimes you're the hydrant, and life pisses all over you."
Harry was silent, his mind running a mile a minute trying to find a way out of this situation. Suddenly, what Malfoy—he'd better get used to calling him Draco with the crazy idea he'd just come up with—had said settled like an annoying rash in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away no matter how much he tried to come up with other alternatives.
"You say even I'm more favorable than Voldemort," he said slowly. "Well, I'm not gay or anything, but I find you a million times more desirable than Lord Snake Face."
"Where are you going with this, Potter?" Draco asked hesitantly; he probably did not even want to know what was going through Harry's head.
"Harry, call me Harry, and have you ever heard the saying about choosing the lesser of two evils?"
Draco stared at Harry in confusion, before that was overtaken by a look of comprehension and disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"No. Sirius died fifth year."
"What?"
"My godfather," Harry said, "Sirius. He died fifth year in the Department of Mysteries; maybe your father or your crazy aunt Bellatrix told you about it."
"Potter, do you really think now is the time for jokes made in bad humor?"
"No," Harry admitted, "but you can't really blame me for being a bit out of my mind right now."
Draco seemed to concede that point.
"But what I said earlier, about choosing the lesser of two evils, wasn't a joke. Neither of us actually wants to have Voldemort's child and if given the choice, I'd choose you over him any day."
"So you want us to shag each other in hopes that when he comes we'd have already conceived and thereby ruined his chances of future generations."
"Well, when you put it that way… yeah, that's exactly what I meant."
"You're insane, Potter."
"Yeah, I'm as crazy as a road lizard. I know this is asking a bit much and it's kind of a longshot and I'd love to give you time to think this over, but I have a week to talk myself out of this. You have less than a day to talk yourself into it. And, road lizards may look crazy running in zigzags like they do, but they avoid getting hit don't they?" Harry knew Draco probably didn't understand the analogy—hell, Harry barely understood it himself—but he was sure he'd gotten the basic idea across.
"You said you're not gay," Draco said as if that summed up his hesitance at the situation.
"I'm not," Harry admitted, "But, either way it goes, I'll have to put my own discomfiture aside. Do you really believe there's something to think over right now, Draco? Time is running out."
"I am gay," Draco said, ignoring Harry's words. "I always knew that my father would never approve of it, but it's not like sexuality is something you choose." Draco moved over to the bed and sat down next to Harry, his shoulders hunched over as if they could barely hold the weight they carried. "I mean, at what point in your life did you decide to be straight? I sure as hell didn't wake up one morning and decide to like other boys. I'd just always been that way. Girls never interested me, but still I tried to make myself like them to please my father. I've slept with more girls than you can count on both hands, but I've never been with a boy. Even though I've known that I'm gay for a while, I've never actually slept with a boy. I always thought my first time with a guy, the first time that actually counts, would be something special with someone I loved… and who loved me in return."
"Draco," Harry said slowly, Draco hadn't even looked this vulnerable and afraid in the Astronomy Tower when he was holding Dumbledore at wand point. Harry didn't know how he was supposed to feel. He didn't know what to think. "There's never been any love between the two of us, but…"
"Fine," Draco cut in. "Let's do this. You're right, there's really not anything to think over, so let's just get it over with."
"Draco, I—"
"Harry, this means nothing, and afterward we'll pretend it never happened. I don't want nor need your sympathy."
"Right," Harry said. Slowly he reached over and placed his hand on Draco's thigh; Draco flinched at the touch, but forced himself to relax.
"Just no kissing, ok," Draco said, placing a hand on top of Harry's. "It's too personal. And… and don't worry about hurting me. Don't act like you love me; that would only be insulting."
"Of course," Harry agreed.
For a moment, time stood still as both boys realized just what they were about to do. But time couldn't stand still forever, especially not for fate's favorite fools. Harry swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat, and set about freeing Draco of his clothes, and with them the last tendrils of hesitation. After a moment, Draco began to reciprocate the effort.
Despite his promise to disregard the other's comfort, Harry was as gentle as possible as he led Draco into a lying down position and settled on top of him. Somewhere deep down inside he knew that he had to be gentle. Voldemort wouldn't be so kind when he came for what he wanted, but Harry could at least try to make this as good as possible for the blond.
Touching Draco was weird. Harry had never touched another boy so intimately before and he found that Draco's body was hard in the places Harry expected softness and sharp where Harry expected curves. It was also strange having Draco be so placid to Harry's actions. He didn't resist when Harry spread his legs, or when he lightly caressed his trembling body. To Harry, this docile Draco was scarier than an angry Draco, so he set about breaking him out of this unnerving compliance. Harry bent over and bit harshly on the milky white skin stretched over Draco's hipbone.
Draco let out a startled gasp and raised his head to lock eyes with Harry. Harry grinned unapologetically as he wrapped a hand around Draco's flaccid member and tugged harshly. Draco moaned and bucked his hips into the touch. "Potter," his tone was one of warning.
"Draco," Harry said back insolently. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he knew that he wanted Draco to at least respond to his efforts. He wouldn't know how to make this feel good if he tried, but he would rather shoot himself than continue with Draco just lying there like a lifeless doll. Draco seemed to get his point and became more receptive to Harry's efforts. He moaned when Harry did something he liked and guided him through the preparation process.
Nothing could have prepared Harry for the feeling he got when he finally slipped inside of Draco. The lack of proper lubrication made the actual penetration harder than it should have been, but being inside Draco felt amazing. Draco was so hot and tight. The muscles squeezed Harry so much he could practically feel every breath Draco took in his cock. Harry just wanted to slam in and out of him relentlessly until he reached completion, Draco's comfort be damned. Still, with the Dark Lord's impending visit, Harry wanted Draco to find at least some pleasure in this action, because surely Voldemort wouldn't be so kind. So, with a concentrated effort, Harry managed to control the urge to thrust unrelenting into Draco's tight hole.
"Shit," Draco hissed, as he panted and tried to adjust to being penetrated.
"Please don't use the word 'shit' while my cock is up your arse," Harry said absently.
"Fuck then," Draco hissed back. Harry decided to ignore the tears of pain trying to escape the corners of Draco's eyes.
"Tell me when it's ok to move."
"Now would be a good time," Draco groaned. "Damn, you're huge, or maybe it just feels that way since I'm not used to have things up my arse."
"Are you're sure it's ok to move?"
"Well, I'm not going to get used to it if you don't do it now will I?"
"Right," Harry said before slowly pulling out and pushing back in. Damn, being inside Malfoy was a glorious feeling. Harry had never felt so hot or surrounded; it was amazing.
"I'm not going to break, Potter, and I'm sure I told you not to worry about hurting me."
"Fine!" Harry snapped, pulling out and slamming hard and fast into Draco's semi-resistant body. Draco screamed and arched off the bed, but Harry disregarded the sound and continued to thrust into the hot body below him.
"Merlin!" Draco groaned. Apparently he'd adjusted to the feeling and was enjoying it if his leaking cock was anything to go by. His eyes were closed and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Draco was pretending it was someone else fucking him right now, someone more desirable than Harry, someone Draco actually loved. Before long, Harry felt the familiar coiling in his belly and was crying his release a he spilled inside of Draco. Draco wrapped a hand around his own cock and tugged a few times, before he too met his release.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, pulling out of Draco and watching the mixture of blood and semen follow his retreat from the abused sphincter and spill onto the bed.
Draco ignored Harry, choosing to get out of the bed as soon as Harry moved enough to allow it and disappear through the only door in the room—Harry noted that it led to the loo. Harry lay across the bad, dazed from the amazing orgasm he'd just had. He never thought having sex with another boy could feel like this. Slowly he came down from his orgasm induced high enough to realize the situation he was in. What he'd just done hadn't been about pleasure at all, and he shouldn't have been so caught up in his own self when Draco had just given up a piece of himself.
A few minutes later, when Draco hadn't returned to the room, Harry went to see if something was wrong. He stood outside the bathroom door, his hand poised to knock, but froze when he heard the sounds coming from the other side. Draco was crying. Harry could hear loud shuddering sobs coming from the other side of the door and it made him reluctant to intrude on the obviously private moment. Still, he knocked softly.
"Draco," he called out.
There was a pause in sound from Draco's side of the door, before Harry could hear a faucet turn on and Draco called back "I'll be out in a minute."
Harry sighed and made his way back over to the bed. He sat staring at the closed door waiting for Draco to come out. A few minutes later, Draco finally reentered the room. "Let's do it again," he said heading straight for the bed.
"What?" Harry asked in surprise.
"You really don't think one time is going to be enough for your crazy plan to work, do you? If we're lucky, the Dark Lord will use a fertility potion so that we conceive the first time. If we're not, we're going to have to deal with repeat visits until he confirms conception. I only have tonight for this scheme of yours to work and doing it just one time is not going to be enough. So, let's do it again."
Harry couldn't bring himself to argue with that logic.
…
They ended up doing it three times before they passed out from exhaustion. Draco had mustered up enough wandless magic to heal his anus so that when the time came Voldemort wouldn't know what they had done. And, even though they'd just been as close as two people could be, as they had lain down to sleep in the single bed the room had to offer, Draco had shied away from Harry's touch and put as much space between them as possible. As Harry had looked at Draco through blurry eyes right before he fell asleep, he was sure he saw the blond's shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry slid closer to Draco and wrapped an arm around him. Even though Draco resisted the touch Harry held on. Finally, Draco rolled to face Harry. Harry gave him a small smile that he knew wasn't at all reassuring, and Draco succumbed to loud sobs that shook his whole body as he hid his face in Harry's neck.
…
Harry woke to his scar hurting.
As that was always a bad sign, Harry jumped from sleep to awake fairly quickly and his hand instinctively groped around for his wand, but didn't find it. Once full wakefulness fell over him, his memories of the past day came, as well as an awareness of the world around him. Draco was sleeping against his chest and there was someone standing over the bed watching them. The pain in his scar told him just who that someone was.
Voldemort wasn't an attractive creature—creature because an anthropomorphic form did not make one automatically a human being; a human being needed a soul, a heart, a conscience, and a nose. The unsightly visage of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord really was the stuff nightmares were made of. Seriously, when recreating a body how hard would it have been to spare a bit of extra cartilage for a nose and some ears? Tom Riddle may have been a handsome man, but his current incarnation wasn't going to win him any beauty pageants. And yes, Harry was very much aware that he was mentally going on about the pointless topic of Voldemort's looks as a way to pretend he wasn't in the situation he was in—a situation defined by a lack of a wand, a helpless blond, and imminent degradation if that leer of Voldemort's face was anything to go by.
Harry gripped Draco a bit tighter in his arms; a protective gesture that he knew would ultimately do nothing in shielding the Malfoy heir from his fate. Still, there was a look of defiance in Harry's green eyes as they met Voldemort's—it was the same defiance a kitten showed a full grown Rottweiler intruding on its territory, sure it looked fierce, but it wouldn't keep him from being swallowed whole. Voldemort silently met his glare with a grin, already confident about his impending victory. And why wouldn't he be confident? He had his greatest enemy confined to a single room, wandless, hopeless, with no contact with the outside world, still a bit weak from the effects of the potion forced on him and the small amount of food he'd received in the past week, and no chance of being saved anytime soon. On a broader scale, he had two gorgeous young men warming his bed, ready—albeit unwilling—to spread their legs for him and carry on future generations of Dark Lords. Yeah, Moldy-balls had every reason to feel confident.
Draco began to stir in Harry's arms. How it's possible for a lipless mouth to smirk, Harry had no idea, but Voldemort somehow managed to pull it off. Right before his pulled out his wand and hit Harry with a body bind.
"You should be happy to have a front row seat for the show, Potter."
"Harry!" Draco said, now fully awake, he sat up and looked worriedly over at Harry. Harry tried to express reassurance with his eyes, as the rest of him couldn't fight the body bind. But any reassurance he might have managed to express was lost in an instant, because Voldemort chose that moment to make his move.
Long, too thin fingers traced the side of Draco's face, pulling the blond's attention away from Harry and towards the evil lurking in the room. Draco visibly flinched away from the touch, but that just fueled the Dark Lord's pleasure.
"Young Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort said, "you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this." The fingers clenched a handful of Draco's platinum blond hair and yanked him towards the monster, causing the boy to whimper pitifully. A wave of Voldemort's wand left Draco naked and those blood red eyes roving over his nude form was enough to turn Harry's stomach. "Yes, I'm going to enjoy this very much." He released Draco's hair and threw the blond back onto the bed. Another wand wave had Draco's hands bound to the headboard, and another removed Voldemort's clothes and left him hovering over the bed in all his revolting glory.
Draco seemed dead. He put up no resistance as Voldemort spread his legs and situated himself between them. He obediently opened his mouth at the Dark Lord's instruction and allowed what Harry could only assume to be a fertility potion to be poured down his throat. Harry didn't know what to think of this docile Draco; because this wasn't the Draco he'd known in school. The Draco he knew wouldn't have been so accepting this fate.
Harry tried to block out what came next. He pulled himself deep inside his mind in order to get away from the Dark Lord's words, but nothing could distract him from the obvious jostling of the bed as Voldemort moved himself into position…and then Draco screamed and Harry felt himself die a little bit inside.
…
Long after Voldemort had come and gone, Harry lay unmoving on the bed next to a sobbing Draco Malfoy. The body bind that had been cast on him had been removed when the Dark Lord left, but Harry couldn't bring himself to move. Draco had curled himself into a ball and trembled as he cried. Harry wanted to comfort him, but all he could think to say was that 'everything is going to be alright'; he knew Draco wouldn't want to hear that, and he knew even as he thought it that it was a lie, so he said nothing. Still, Harry could not bear hearing the blond's cries, so he willed himself to turn over and do something about it.
"Draco," Harry said softly, placing a hand on the crying boy's shoulder. Draco flinched away from the touch and tried to put as much space between the two of them as possible. Unfortunately he was too close to the edge of the bed when he tried to move away and Draco fell to the floor with a loud whimper. Harry moved slowly over to peer at the blond on the floor; he felt as if he was in the company of a frightened animal and that any sudden movement or sound would set Draco off. How did one approach a rape victim directly after their rape? What did one say to the aforementioned victim? Would it be best to just ignore the purple elephant in the polka-dot tutu sipping tea in the corner of the room? Did situations such as these cause everyone to slip to the other side of sanity like it seemed to do Harry?
"Draco," he tried again, reaching a hand towards the other boy. Obviously he'd been otherwise occupied the day God gave out the common sense that rape victims did not like to be touched. Obviously having Draco throw himself out of the bed to avoid being touched hadn't clued Harry in on that little tidbit of information either.
This time Draco let out a keening sound somewhere between a sob and a scream as he scrambled away from Harry's outstretched hand as fast as he could. It wasn't until Draco's back met with the wall on the other side of the room and the blond looked franticly around the room for somewhere to run that Harry realized that perhaps physical contact wasn't the best way to console a rape victim—and here he was thinking that a hug could cure anything. Not for the first time since waking up in this room, Harry questioned his own sanity. Like all animals, human beings weren't meant for life in captivity, and though Harry had only be awake and aware of this captive state for less than forty-eight hours he was already slipping into the madness brought upon by unwanted confinement. It also didn't help that he'd just witnessed something that could fracture the strongest of minds.
Grasping hold of the last tendrils of sanity and common sense available to him, Harry slowly pulled back his outstretched hand and scooted back to the other side of the bed to allow Draco the space he obviously needed. Something akin to relief flickered in Draco's jaded eyes, and the blond quickly took Harry's retreat as the sign of goodwill that it was. Still, there did not seem to be enough space between them in that one room to allow Draco any comfort, so the Malfoy quickly made his own retreat and once again took refuge in the bathroom.
Not knowing what else to do—but being sure there was nothing he could do for Draco—Harry laid down on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.
…
Harry woke slowly. His senses returned to their wakened state one by one. The sheets of the bed felt cool when he stretched his arms out, a somewhat comforting sensation when compared to the stale smelling air in the room. The constant hum of silence muffled his ears, broken only by the sounds of breathing. His tongue, thick and heavy in his mouth, found neither a pleasant nor foul taste to greet his wakefulness with. His eyes opened to dim lighting, but that was nothing new.
His deductive reasoning skills were next to wake. The fact that the bed sheets were cool next to him meant that the bed had been empty for a while which led to the conclusion that Draco had most likely never returned to the bed. That was both possible and probable since Draco was so obviously averse to physical contact. But the fact that it wasn't only his breathing breaking the silence meant that Draco had at least returned from his sojourn in the bathroom.
Harry sat up and scanned the room for his fellow prisoner. Draco was sitting on the floor, back pressed against the wall, next to the door to the bathroom. His legs were drawn up towards his chest with his thighs pressed together but his feet spread apart. His arms lay casually over his knees. His head was bowed with his eyes fixed on some invisible spot in his lap. The whole pose projected and air of vulnerability and defeat. Harry didn't like seeing him this way.
"Draco," he said, because what else could he say?
"We should have done it again," Draco said before Harry could say anything else. "After he was done, we should have done it again. With the fertility potion he gave me there would have been a better chance. If I wasn't such a wuss… Damn it all to hell! It doesn't matter how many times we did it before if I was too much of a damn pansy to do it when it counted."
"Draco, you can't blame yourself for that. You'd just been raped; it goes without saying that you would have been too upset to even think about having sex."
Draco sighed. "It doesn't matter now. My bed is made; now it's you we have to worry about. We have a week to get you pregnant before he comes back."
…
Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected sex with a man to be like and he'd never thought he'd be in the position to find out. Strange, foreign, and intrusive we're words barely able to even begin describing the feeling of having Draco's fingers up his arse. He didn't even want to think about how it was going to feel having the blond's cock up there in the next minute or so. He distracted himself by focusing on the insignificant details about the situation—such as the fact that Draco's hair was a complete mess, the sheets of the bed were scratchy against his back, and sweat was beading across Draco's nose.
He winced when Draco slipped the third finger in and began scissoring them. There was a water stain on the ceiling above the bed. A spider was building a web in the corner of the room. His nose was itching. Draco pulled the fingers out and verbalized a low warning, before he started pressing something much bigger inside of Harry. Harry closed his eyes and tried to will his body to relax—not an easy feat when everything in him was screaming to eject the foreign invader. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to this, so he told Draco not to bother with waiting for him adjust.
That it was painful went without saying. It was also far too intimate, and maybe a little too demeaning, to warrant voluntarily repeating the action. Draco tried to be gentle at least. At one point, Harry thought he'd felt something that might have been pleasure, but it was gone so fast he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. A while later, he felt it again and realized that Draco was touching something inside of him that was an obvious erogenous zone. Unfortunately it wasn't a pleasurable enough sensation to make him want to submit to sex with another man for the rest of his life. At least Draco was enjoying it. The blond deserved at least that much after all that he'd been through. Harry had enjoyed the dominating position of sodomizing as well, but it seemed Draco could find pleasure in both giving and receiving—that is when the receiving side didn't consist of being raped by a snake-faced bastard.
Harry didn't find enough pleasure in the act to reach any stage of arousal—the pleasure he found was too short lived for more than the barest stirring in his groin area—but Draco reached orgasm soon enough and sprayed Harry's inside with his warm seed. Harry found this to be a very strange sensation, having another man's jism inside him. Harry decided that he didn't completely hate what they had just done, after he got passed the initial pain and beat back his discomfort of being touched in such a way, he actually felt pretty neutral towards the whole affair. Perhaps his mind was beginning to crack, or perhaps his neutrality stemmed from the fact that he knew he would have to repeat this act and he needed a coping mechanism to help him through it. Whatever the reason, Harry agreed that he was willing to do this twice a day for the week leading up until Voldemort's next visit, and he made Draco promise that no matter what his emotional state afterward they would do it again while the fertility potion was still in his system.
…
"I'm in love with Severus, you know." Draco said at random. "I've been in love with him for a long time. I've known him all my life; he's my godfather after-all. I've always had the utmost respect for him. As a child, I felt as if he loved me more than my father did, so I decided I would love him more than my father as well. He was always there for me. More than once, he was the one to wipe my tears and heal my bruises after my father had hurt me either emotionally or physically. I know others see him as this cold, evil person who's not even attractive. But I think I'm the only person who knows the real Severus Snape. He's so caring and has such a capacity to love. I mean, when he loves someone he loves them deeply and so completely there's no room for anyone other than them in his heart. Even when he knows it is love unrequited, he still loves them with the entirety of his very being. I found that to be a beauty of its own form. I always wished that I was the one on the receiving end of such passionate love.
"I told him how I felt the summer after fourth year. I knew that he wouldn't return my feelings, but I had to try. He puts up such a cold front, but Severus is really just a fragile man afraid of being hurt. He doesn't like letting people in, but he's too afraid to be alone. He doesn't like taking risks, but he can't help falling in love. He's such a beautiful contradiction. He told me that I was confused and that I'd mistaken respect for love or that I had substituted one type of love for another. Surely I loved him as one would love a father, he said. I told him he was wrong. I told him that I loved him with a force rivaled only by his love for—anyway, he told me that I was mistaken and that I'd picked the worst time to come to him saying such things. He told me if we lived through the coming war and I still thought I felt this way then I should talk to him after the smoke clears.
"The more time that passes, I find that I only love him more. The more I learn about him, the surer I am that he's the one for me. I find that the force with which he loves is only contested by his loyalty. When this war ends, I'm going to run right into his arms and hold him so tight that he won't have no choice but take me into his heart, because I'll meld us together as one. I love him that much."
Harry listened to Draco and thought about his own life. He'd never felt a love even remotely comparable to the one Draco was speaking of. At the end of the last school year, Harry was convinced he was in love with Ginny, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Ginny was an amazing person and Harry cared deeply for her, but love was something he'd never truly felt before and he wasn't sure how to recognize it. He knew his feelings for Ginny were different than those for Hermione, but that wasn't saying much because Hermione obviously played the role of an older sister in his life. And the fact that Ginny had been in love with him for so long made Harry question whether or not it was him she actually loved and not the Boy-Who-Lived. Ginny had loved him since before the two of them really knew each other, so didn't that mean she was just in love with the idea of him?
Figuring it was best not to dwell on it now, Harry closed his eyes and hoped that he would eventually feel a love as strong as the one Draco had.
…
"Potter, why didn't you fight me?"
"What?"
"You woke up in a strange room with only me. You didn't even try to look for your wand. You didn't try to escape. You didn't treat me like an enemy and try to fight me. And you took every word I said as fact without questioning me. Why?"
Harry didn't know how to answer. How could he say that he'd never even considered fighting Draco or that the blond might be lying to him. From the moment he'd woken up, he'd just known that he and Draco was on the same side and that he shouldn't question it. He'd just felt it in his gut and the memory of the night in the tower had only served to strengthen that feeling.
Silence hung between them, before Harry finally decided to speak. "I was there that night in the Astronomy Tower. I saw everything."
"You were there? Why? How?"
"Dumbledore and I were away from the school that night. He'd had a hunch about something that proved false. We'd thought we'd found a way to destroy Voldemort, but it seem that we were purposely misled. We were in Hogsmeade when we saw the Mark over the tower. He headed there directly. He made me hide when you came. There was nothing I could do."
"And you saw everything?"
"Yes. I saw everything. I saw you pleading for your mother's life and how torn up you were. I saw that he was going to give you a chance. I saw that you're not a killer."
"And that's why you trust me?"
"That and because of your eyes. Your eyes are honest no matter what lies fall from your lips."
…
When Voldemort came Draco had once again barricaded himself in the bathroom. Harry was sitting in the bed, waiting for what was to come. Thoughts of rebellion had fled him long ago at this point. Voldemort approached and all Harry could think was at least Draco had gotten himself out of having to play witness to this scene.
Voldemort actually seemed quite surprised by how compliant Harry was being. Most likely he'd expected a fight, because surely Harry Bloody Potter wasn't just going to lay back and think of England when he was about to be raped by his sworn enemy. But Harry knew that resistance would only bring him more pain in the long run. So, he obediently swallowed the fertility potion he was given and he held his tongue as Voldemort spelled his clothes away. When the actual act started, Harry had hidden himself inside his mind and watched from behind empty eyes with a strange detachment that may be a precursor to serious mental health issues in the near future.
Voldemort was not a gentle lover—if you could apply the word 'lover' to the give situation—and Harry felt kind of bad for the boy lying on the bed suffering the Dark Lord's attention. That poor child, he must be really hurting; he was crying and most likely bleeding as well. His whole body was trembling. Harry wished he could help the boy. He wished there was something he could do that would make this better for him. It was really too bad that Harry was too far away to offer any aid. The poor child would have to suffer alone. Harry wondered if the boy knew he was crying. Did he feel the sobs wracking through his chest, or was he too distracted by the pain being inflicted on him elsewhere? It really was a pitiful sight. But, at least it seemed the man was done now. Yes, he was done. He was putting his clothes back on and saying words Harry was sure the boy on the bed couldn't hear.
He was leaving now. That's good. Perhaps now the boy could sleep? No? Not yet, you say. What more can the fates have in store for that poor child? Another visitor? Another lover? This time it was a blond boy. The blond looked pretty upset as well. He kept apologizing. Why? Why was he apologizing? Did he not want to hurt the boy? Then why was he doing this? At least he was more gentle than the man. The boy was still crying, but the blond was crying as well. Isn't that a miserable sight: two crying boys on a bed, clinging to each other? Harry felt sorry for both of them. At least it was over now. Now they could both rest. That's good. They needed their rest. Harry would stay awake and watch over them. At least he will try. His eyes were feeling so heavy. Harry was sleepy as well. Maybe he'd sleep for just a little while. Surely nothing would hurt the boys if he only slept for a little bit…
…
They hadn't spoken much since Voldemort's last visit. There was nothing for either of them to say. Draco usually sat on the floor near the bathroom door, looking much like he had the day after Voldemort had visited him. Harry had taken to sitting on the floor opposite Draco. Neither of them went near the bed. They measured the passing of the days by how often the house elves brought food. Three meals a day, sleep, then repeat. Draco hardly touched his food. What he did eat didn't stay down. Harry barely managed to eat and keep down just a little more than Draco. Sixty-five meals, twenty-one days, passed in silence, before something finally happened.
The room was so silent that every little sound seemed that much louder. Then something in the air seemed to shift and the two of them were no longer alone; Harry and Draco both pushed through the thick layers of apathy that was clouding their senses and turned to see who had deemed them worthy of a visit.
Voldemort entered first, and Harry was sure the man's presence should have affected him more than this. Surely the sight of the snake-faced rapist was supposed to fill Harry with something akin to fear or hatred. But no, Voldemort entered the room and the thick strands of apathy he'd been floating in only clung to him tighter. Perhaps it's because there was nothing Voldemort could do that Harry that he hadn't already done before.
The person who entered after Voldemort surprised Harry only because no one other than Voldemort and the house elves had been in the room since Harry arrived, but for some reason Harry had known if Voldemort would bring a guest into the room with him it would be one of two people: Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape.
Harry glanced at Draco. The blond was hiding his face in shame at the sight of the second visitor. Harry felt a stirring of pity within him for a second. Poor Draco. Why did it have to be Severus that saw him like this? Harry was sure his fellow captive would have much more preferred Lucius to play witness to his shame than Severus. He was in love with Severus after all, and barely respected his father at all.
"Hello my lovelies," Voldemort greeted. "You two are doing well, I hope." Harry wondered if the peppy greeting was genuine or if Voldemort was trying to be funny. Either way, all he received was a blank stare from Harry, and a nearly inaudible whimper from Draco, who was still hiding his face in shame.
Apparently the Dark Lord was genuinely in a good mood, because he didn't react to the lack of reaction in the way Harry expected. In fact, Voldemort completely ignored the fact that Harry and Draco seemed to be ignoring him.
"Don't mind us," the much too chipper Dark Lord said, "Severus and I are only here to run a quick test. We'll be gone in a jiff."
He nodded towards Snape, and the Potions Master silently stepped forward and pulled out his wand. He mumbled a spell and waved the wand first towards Draco, then Harry. Severus put his wand away and turned to face the (impatiently) waiting Dark Lord.
"Everything is going to plan, My Lord," Snape said.
Harry decided that Voldemort had either had a sudden change in personality or he was high off of something, because the supposed "Dark" Lord let out a life that sound downright giddy and Harry half expected him to start jumping up and down and clapping his hands from his excitement. Instead, the Lord of the No Noses strode across the room and grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair.
"You did quite well, Severus," Voldemort said as he used his grip on the blond strands to yank Draco to his feet and thrust him towards Snape. "Here is your reward."
It looked to Harry as if Snape caught Draco as a reflex. He held the blond in his arms and looked at his master confusedly. "I don't understand, My Lord."
Voldemort grinned and walked across the room to where Harry was still sitting against the wall watching the scene playing out impassively. "I was under the impression, Severus, that you and the younger Malfoy had a special relationship. Was I mistaken?"
Snape didn't seem to know how to answer. "Draco is my godson, My Lord; that is full extent of our relationship."
Voldemort was now standing over Harry, petting his hair as casually as one would pet a dog. "Be that as it may, you cannot deny that he is a beautiful boy. Why not have a bit of fun with him?"
"I couldn't possibly, My Lord."
The fingers in Harry's hair stopped their petting and balled into a fist. Harry whimpered from the sudden pain, but did nothing to try to escape the Dark Lord's grip. Dark red eyes locked on Severus and Voldemort's voice had none of its former giddiness. "If the boy was good enough for me to bed, Severus, what makes him not worthy of you? Are you proclaiming yourself too good for my things?"
"Not at all, My Lord," Snape said quickly. "I only meant that my relationship with Draco prior to now makes me unable to see him in a sexual light. Potter, on the other hand, I find quite tempting."
Long, spindly fingers resumed their petting of Harry's hair as Voldemort seemed to think over the words Snape had spoken. "Ok, then," Voldemort said thoughtfully. Harry whimpered again as his hair was once more clenched in a tight fist. Voldemort used his grip to pull Harry into a standing position and throw him towards Snape. "Have at him," he said.
Suddenly, Harry was leaning against Snape's firm chest with the Potions Master's arms the only thing holding him up. "Thank you, My Lord," Harry heard Snape say, but it sounded as if those words were spoken from the other end of a long tunnel as Harry's brain was screaming too loud for him to hear properly. Surely what he thought was about to happen wasn't really going to happen.
It seemed all it took to wash away the thick sludge of apathy was the anticipation of another rape. Harry was so busy drowning in his panicking thoughts he didn't even notice Snape guiding him over to the bed, banishing their clothes and settling between Harry's spread thighs.
Harry stared up at Snape with frightened green eyes, silently pleading for this not to be happening. Snape's eyes were soft and apologetic even as he lifted Harry's legs and lined himself up with his trembling hole. 'I'm sorry,' Snape seemed to being saying, but then he was pushing inside and Harry could no longer see his eyes through his own tears.
Harry retreated into the safe place he'd found within his mind and hoped he could just stay there until this was all over.
…
It was so sad to see that poor boy in this position yet again. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Why did they keep hurting him like this? What had he done wrong?
It broke his heart to see those empty green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling glossed over by a sheen of tears. The man above him kept moving, thrusting into his body regardless of the poor boy's feelings. And the other man was there too. The demon who'd hurt him like this the first time. He was standing there watching and holding the other boy in his arms.
The little blond boy looked just as broken and empty as the shell of the boy on the bed. The demon was touching him and he was crying.
This wasn't fair! Why did everyone keep hurting these poor boys! Why was this happening to them! What kind of monsters did this to poor innocent children?
Those poor boys; so lost and broken.
And the evil men kept hurting them. They were still hurting them! Why wouldn't they stop hurting them already! Why wouldn't they just die! They deserved to die!
Die.
Die!
DIE!
…
When asked later, neither Harry nor Draco could say exactly how the Dark Lord and Severus Snape died.
It happened too sudden and without warning.
It happened in an instant between one heart beat and the next.
Severus was still inside of Harry when he died and Voldemort had his hand wrapped around Draco's cock.
Harry had lain there under Severus' corpse for lord only knows how long and Draco had retreated to the farthest corner of the room and had cried until he puked.
As Fate would have it, with the Dark Lord's death the wards keeping Harry from being found fell and Ronald Weasley, in a fit of angst over the fact that his best friend still hadn't been found had angrily cast a "Point Me" spell that hadn't work the first million times he'd tried it, but a million and one time's the charm, and was surprised to discover that the spell actually worked.
When the Order of the Phoenix burst down the wall of the doorless room where the boys were imprisoned, they didn't know what to think of the sight before them.
Harry was lying, near catatonic, on the bed naked and with the corpse of Severus Snape still on top of him. Draco was in a corner, disgustingly close to a pool of his own vomit, naked from the waist down and sobbing hysterically. Voldemort's corpse laid on the floor with a look of sick pleasure eternally etched across his face.
No one knew what to say, so they said nothing more than what was needed to be said in order to get the boys out of the room and to the nearest Port-key to Hogwarts' infirmary.
End Part 1.