Dsiclaimer: I own nothing of JKRs, but I do say that OotP never happened and Tonks can die.

. ;; ...anywho...

----

I am painfully alone in this world...

Harry's body hung limply, levitating vertically so that the mess of his black hair dragged against the ground. He had a pained expression in his slumber, due to the number of iron chains that pierced his flesh…namely deltoids and gastrocnemius, and the small of his back, a small incision just above his bottom. The operation seemingly done flawlessly, not a blemish to be seen, nor an accidental incision. The chains stretched tightly, their roots deep into the ground where they could not be seen. His toes curled from the loss of blood circulation, skin near the piercings turning a diseased purple. Harry's pain as he came to, was that of the color slowly building in the mutilated parts of his body, a steady crescendo. Waves of nausea crashed over Harry's body, and his lids were heavy with exhaustion, but still forced them open nonetheless to observe his surroundings. A graveyard – that much was visible, even with his glasses hanging on for dear life just under his chin. Graveyards held many a bad memory for him, and he had long since accepted that, but he couldn't help but grimace inwardly in his presence at yet another –

TOM RIDDLE. Upside down and nearly blind, his memory supplied the details of the engraved title. It made him suck in his breath at the terrible familiarity, nearly choking on his involuntary tears, that he would face him again (Voldemort, Harry cursed himself), and he would not be prepared, he had not discovered the other horcruxes, he would not be able to avenge his parent's deaths, Sirius' death, Cedric's…Harry's hysteria was only cut off by a quiet noise. His gaze watery, snapped toward any soft of culprit for the sound, groaning dryly – his throat screamed in reply – as he moved his body through his condition. From the ground, a sick dread embedded itself in Harry's veins as he recognized his friend of thirteen years. Hermione Granger.

Hermione whimpered softly, her eyes downcast, and her face, partially hidden from tufts of her wild hair. She chewed mindlessly upon small strands that she could force inside of her mouth, dirt covered and damp. Thick rope cut into her mouth. Harry's vision swam violently, his body jerked involuntarily with the lurching nausea that threatened to expel itself. He forced himself to concentrate as he looked over Hermione for any sort of abrasion. She sat in a blackened chair, its wood charred no less by recent fire; her posture was stoic and erect, her palms clasped neatly together in her lap. She gave the vaguest of trembles, and small tinkle of metal rang through the air – her wrists and ankles were bound tightly with rope, iron chain clasped and welded through the ground. It seemed she had already tested the resilience of the rope, angry red cuts sliced her flesh, exposing raw pink muscle underneath. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, as if she were dozing, however as she reacted to a noise unlike the random sound of her chains, her eyes widened as she noticed Harry had awakened. A quick flash of fear shone brilliantly in her eyes, and slightly embarrassed even now, a heated blush warming her already flushed cheeks further, and she quickly looked down. Harry had not noticed that his blatant nudity and sex was not but three feet from her, his cock directly opposite of her face, while Harry's nose nearly ground into the dirt. Harry gave her a smile, as if to reassure her, no matter how confused he felt, no matter that he himself was in a rather more comprising position than Hermione. A dim hope rushed toward him, that Ron was not there, that perhaps they had a chance of being found in the graveyard of Lord Voldemort. Who could see reason? Voldemort's body was resurrected, in no need of the bone of his father, sheer hatred of muggles alone would be enough to never suspect the small corner of land.

Suddenly, a pale hand grazed Hermione's face, and her skin immediately lost its former color, resorting to a milky white, utterly devoid of color. The phantom hand was decorated with several dirty rings, though the hand itself was seemingly flawless, smooth and long fingered, with a masculine squared shape to his cuticles, it was perfect. But Harry's head pulsed with blood, and very conveniently distracted him from the figure whom this hand belonged to. As he lifted his head as to relieve the pressure that strained his neck and robbed him of proper thought, the profile of Lucius Malfoy rested itself upon the shoulder of one of his dearest friends. Harry nearly roared against the overwhelming strain of his throat and abdominal muscles, but his vision swam again, and Harry had to drop the weight of his weight in order to rest his precious neck. His breath turned heavy as Lucius ran a white finger along the creamy surface of Hermione's cheek, her expression betraying nothing, but her eyes held a tortured emotion. If skin could crawl, (without the use of magic, that is) Harry was sure that hers would've writhed and rippled in terror. Her body tensed against his touch, but Lucius did nothing but absently stroke her cheek, and Harry raised his head, Malfoy's grey stare penetrating through the immaculate fall of his platinum hair, his lips twisted into a freakish smirk. "Malfoy." Harry spat, as if the very name consumed him with its poison. His dark hair was matted and tainted with the overpowering musk of masculine sweat; eyes flashing bleakly, the livid color of green clouded with slight confusion for they could not see. Harry's pale, lithe body twisted with a harsh tremor, coughing weakly. Blood dripped from his parched lips in thin crimson rivulets, shining darkly, lingering mischievously between the miniscule folds as if daring Lucius to take his taste. Let him sip his overwhelming victory, his expert tongue darting to lap every drop of Potter's precious blood.

But no, Lucius merely stepped back from the acknowledgment. He stepped in between Potter and the Mudblood, his tall, lean stature sheathed in a dark cloak, a neat bottle green scarf draped about his elegant throat. Soft, it was chosen especially. The effect on Granger, now that his body was no longer near hers, he saw her visibly relax, though her gaze was sharp. Harry's gaze slid somewhat, in and out of focus, but was there, trained upon him nonetheless. He felt his sneer become more prominent, the ignorant pride that made him meet his eyes even through his own obvious pain was delightful – for Lucius would soon end that invincible gleam in Potter's lovely eyes. He would be the one to take Harry Potter's ego and caress it in the palm of his hand before he crushed it ruthlessly.

"Good evening to you, Harry, and you, Ms. Granger – as ill-fitted you are to be worthy of the mere shadow of my hospitality, I welcome you with open arms." There was no pretense of hospitality in Lucius Malfoy's tone, it was coated with a slow articulated drawl, but underneath burned a pulsing rage. Rage disturbed his fluid movements, as he ran a quivering hand through his hair, he felt his sneer grow nonetheless, his eyes drifting toward the prize between Harry's thighs.

No debt can be paid for my loss...

"You," Lucius said evenly, staring pointedly at Harry, "You have taken something, someone, from me. Actually two people, seeing as you've directly caused it." Malfoy's sneer caving into his gruesomely manic smile, one that peeled his lips back toward the very top of his gums, his white teeth glinting through his frightening wolf's leer, his glare rapidly bypassing murderous into the realm of insanity.

"I'm sure you know who those two people are. I need not mention them. But you – you are going to pay a price."

Lucius stalked closer to Harry, hands that had seemed so gentle, perfect. Hands of a murderer, rough and calloused as he grabbed Harry's cock, and ran an experienced touch down his shaft, Harry's breath hitched and grew ragged, as the tingle registered in his nerves. Mortified, Harry felt himself hardening. A natural reaction, he reasoned, insanely. Draco, Lucius...they're both so much alike.

"Get the fuck away from my dick." Harry managed without any real emotion, thinking frantically about means of escape, his naked position, and the iron in his flesh. Their wands were obviously gone…his concentration was steadily melting into mindless pleasure.

"The lives of your two friends mean good deal to you, like family, no?" Lucius said, ignoring this, kept his eyes steadfastly glued to Harry's dick, as he caressed it, gliding his agile fingers up and over the pink crown, grazing idly around the slippery slit.

"Do you love me, Harry?"

The normally cool tenor had turned into a muffled whimper against Harry's moist tanned shoulder, while Harry buried his nose into Draco's lovely blonde hair, loose and curling into the dewy grass. Draco clung to him in a form of nearly feminine submission, but his voice hardened as he slowly took Harry's face into his palms, forcing him to lock Draco's gaze. Vivid green forests against the roaring winds of the Tundra, snow capped eyes melted those of his lover, forcing him to answer. Briefly, Harry wondered who this man was, to hear the Malfoy scream under his control, rocking madly against the length of him while their lips collided and bruised in a act of passionate frenzy, turn into someone so demanding -- ruthless.

"Answer me. Do you love me, Harry?"

"I -- I don't know, Draco."

"Think about it, I've given up the love of my family, the riches I am entitled to, risking my life in the face of the Dark Lord, for you. If you didn't, I couldn't stand it. I'd have to hurt you. No, I'd have to kill you."

And Harry had killed Draco.

Harry gasped his reply of yes, painfully aware of Hermione's presence, an overpowering disappointment radiating from her body as she kept her head down, he swore he could taste her disgust, her defiance raped the air they breathed, the magic within her rippled through him, and apparently Malfoy also, for he stopped his careful nurturing of Harry's member, which almost made Harry moan in frustration, as demoralizing as it were. Harry dropped his head toward the ground as he heard Malfoy whisper sweetly through his mad grin, "Raise your head Granger – I'd like your ears, as well as your eyes watching me, or perhaps you'd like to see Potter disemboweled and skinned before your eyes? I believe his skin would make a lovely African drum."

When Granger raised her head pathetically, Lucius continued, stroking Harry's cock with increasing vigor. "My son was the greatest love of my life. The beauty of his mother, and the stoic intelligence that shaped him, collapsed. My loving wife; her soul will wander for eternity, mourning the loss of her son.
"Potter, you do not understand the pain of losing your child, nor did I…until now. You've never known your parents, but my son came from me, grew in the womb of his mother, and he was ours, possessively, forever ours. However, I do know the only people who mean everything in the world to you." At this, he gestured vaguely toward Hermione, as he lowered his tongue to the thickened cock he grasped in his hand, teasing the head with a lovely pink tongue, before he took Harry's engorged shaft into his mouth, down his throat, to its base.

Harry's body had begun to buck restlessly in the air, his back arching with obvious, painfully humiliating, and defeated pleasure. He shut his eyes tightly, mouthing apologies wordlessly toward Hermione, who looked at him with increasing pity, and screamed as he came in hot bursts in Lucius' mouth. Malfoy merely lifted his nostril, as if in disgust, and took his mouth away from Harry's limp cock as he swallowed the burning substance.

"You will either forfeit your life to me, or I will slowly torture your friends – your family -- before your eyes, and after Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, I shall move onto their relatives...perhaps, Remus Lupin? Or Molly Weasley," (Here he emphasized the name 'Weasley', running his tongue sensually over the s obscenely.) "And believe me, I will find them all -- and you will have no one to blame but yourself for their deaths. Granger here, is but the appetizer."

But, I can at least make your death suffice, and I will join my beloved again...

Hermione whimpers were stifled against the thick rope, steadily rising into a scream. Harry looked determinedly toward his friend, his sister, and said, voice breaking,

"I will forfeit my life to you, Malfoy. Let her go."

The night ignited with a scream.

I'll kill you.