Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter... or anyone else in this universe. It saddens me daily.
Summary:Harry is kidnapped and tortured by Death Eaters during his seventh year. He is rescued only to find out that he became pregnant during his ordeal. HPSS. Adult Themes.
Warnings: This is slash (two men in a romantic relationship) and there are hints of non-con (rape) in the very beginning. If you didn't realise, this is also mpreg (male pregnancy). If you can't stomach this, please leave.
~~HPSS~~
RunBreatheJumpRunBreathe
Blood pounded through his ears; big, wet beats sounded through his head.
Bump
Bump
Bump
RunBreatheDuckRunBreathe
His heels ached. His muscles burned. His lungs squeezed and were about to quit. Branches whipped at his face and left trails of bloody fire. Pain sprouted along his knee joints and down his shin as his legs jolted against the ground in a constant mind-numbing pattern.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Right Left. RightLeftRightLeftRightLeft.
His body was screaming at him.
Bursts of adrenaline that pumped through his body kept him going.
Sticky sweat matted his hair to his forehead. Salty tears rolled down his flushed face as cold air whipped at his eyes. His mouth fell open to allow his tongue to sweep through the salty drops on the corner of his mouth.
He was dizzy. Exhausted.
He kept running.
~~HPSS~~
His teeth chattered involuntarily as he tucked his thin frame into a ball. His body was squashed into the corner; it held a modicum of safety for him. He let out a whimper as he peered around him. The darkness was closing in on him, he could feel it. It surrounded him, engulfed him, and suffocated him. But he would not panic. His eyes darted back and forth rapidly in the dank cell, looking for (and jumping at) the slightest movement.
He had no idea how long he had been here. Mere minutes? Eternity?
How did he get here?
Where was he?
There were no windows. No sign of life save for the occasional mouse that served to put him into cardiac arrest.
His mouth was cottony; his lips were cracked and bleeding. His stomach burned and fizzed angrily at him.
He was never going to get out of here. He was going to—
BANG!
A sharp slam sounded throughout the room and a blast of harsh light invaded the small space. His eyes watered and his heart pounded through his chest. It hurt.
He swallowed to force it back down to his ribcage. Blinking rapidly, he could feel hot tears running in clean trails down his dirty cheeks.
Another sharp bang and the bittersweet light fled the room once more.
He closed his eyes tightly in an effort to calm his eyes, and his heart, down. But his heart pounded away, ignoring his efforts to sedate it. Slowly his eyes accommodated to the dark.
His mind tried to wrap around the events that had so suddenly become the focus of his mind. What had just happened? He squinted over at the area were the light had come from. Maybe his recently traumatized eyes might be playing tricks, but there was something over there.
Well, he knew there was only one way to find out.
He, again, swallowed down his nervous heart; he did not want to go over there. His little corner was precious. But he was at the mercy of his captors.
Gathering his nerve, he slowly crawled over to the door. Cold, gritty stone dug into his palms and bit into his knees where his trousers were ripped open. He sniffled and tried to ignore how naked and open he felt away from his solitary corner. He felt like he was being stared at. Goosebumps erupted over his body and he gave a shiver. He just wanted to get back.
Yes, there was something there!
The blurry object was a light gray in the dark room. He scooted over to gingerly touch it. He felt it—cold and smooth. He grasped it. It was a cup!
Holding the unassuming goblet, he pondered his options. It could be poison or something horrible but he was so thirsty and if they really wanted to poison him, he was sure they could come in and do it themselves. He surely couldn't do anything to stop it. He dipped a finger in the contents. It was not cool or refreshing in the least but to him it was the most precious gift. His mind already set, he lifted it gently in his hands and eagerly pressed it to his cracked and parched lips.
Placing the cup back down, he contentedly licked his lips.
Well that was not so bad. He thought with a relieved sigh. Nothing painful had happ—
He groaned as a cramp stabbed into his belly. Pained heat flushed through his abdomen. In the back of his mind, a voice scolded him for speaking too soon. The awful bolt of lightening grew until his whole stomach area was burning and twisting. A small whimper escaped his lips. He clutched his arms tightly around his body. His insides squirmed around and it hurt so bad!
Through the pain, his ears caught onto a deeply amused chuckle. His heart skipped a beat.
Someone was in there with him.
He gritted his teeth. It had been poisoned.
He would not scream.
~~HPSS~~
He could hear whispers around his head.
Smatterings of hushed voices-- hurried footsteps and worried tones.
They were talking about him.
Warm light seeped through his closed lids as he kept still, suddenly fully conscious. Soft cotton enfolded his body in a safe wrap. He could smell the familiar scent of disinfectant.
"The poor lad. What will we do, Albus?"
It was a woman's voice—Professor McGonagall's, he concluded. He was in the Hogwarts Infirmary and 'Albus'. Albus, Albus, Albus. He repeated the name in his head. A comforting mantra.
The headmaster was here.
He felt his tight chest loosen slightly. Dumbledore was here. Tears welled up, blurring the bright light seeping through. He felt panic creeping. Sobs caught in his throat. He tried to minimize the muffled sounds escaping from his throat. He was going to begin hyperventilating if he did not calm himself soon. But he couldn't.
He was safe now but what did that change? The feeling of safety that surrounded Albus Dumbledore made his pain all that more acute. His heart hurt and memories flashed by in dizzying swirls.
He felt lost in them. They grasped at the corners of his sub consciousness even as he struggled to push them off. Dark, dank backgrounds of red, wet pain. Flashes of harsh fingers, pale and cold. Long strands of hair touching him, covering him, the color of platinum. Suddenly, he wanted to scream.
Either that or vomit.
His skin itched. He would never be clean again. He knew it with startling clarity. He could feel it.
Were he able to move his hands, they would be unconsciously gouging deep scratches into his skin.
He debated opening his eyes. He didn't want to face them, he couldn't. He could not bear to see the disappointment, the pity that would be shining in their faces. He couldn't stand knowing that he had changed in their eyes. They weren't to be blamed. He had. Nothing would ever be the same again. He just couldn't face it—not yet.
So, safe in his soft, cotton cocoon and the enveloping darkness under his eyelids, he allowed sleep to come once again, praying for a dreamless sleep.
~~HPSS~~
Hands grasped at his hair, pulling tight. His eyes watered at the pain.
Little whispers of pain could still be felt in his belly. They were ignored.
His face had been smashed roughly into cold, sharp stones. His left eye throbbed and he knew there was going to be a fascinating bruise.
Stagnant water and slippery moss surrounded his face. It invaded his senses. He could taste it in his mouth. It burned in his, now, tightly closed eyes. His tears mixed with the earthy liquid. He swallowed the threatening bile rising from his stomach down. He couldn't breathe. He gasped for air—only managing to inhale the dubious contents of the ground. He choked and gasped for air, only to choke again. It was a vicious cycle.
Fingers pawed violently at his body. Rough and calloused, scratching at his skin. Paths of fire tore over his back as nails gouged down his spine.
He could hear their laughter; rough and dark, high pitched and cold, stupid and loud, smooth and soft. There were so many. His eyes were tearing up with his humiliation as his trousers were gracelessly ripped off. He was surrounded.
His head spun and his eyes watered. He was drowning underneath them. He could not get out.
He bit back a panicked squeak as a wandering hand slid down his tailbone.
"Enough."
A softly spoken word and all but one backed off.
Cold fingers clutched at torn hips. Waves of silky hair fell over him like a morbid blanket as his predator leaned forward. He felt a hot, moist breath run over his ear.
"I am going to enjoy this, Potter."
And it was then that the pain really began.
~~HPSS~~
His eyes flew open.
White ceiling tiles met his frightened gaze.
Mind scrambling and heart racing, Harry took several calming breaths.
You are in the Hogwarts Infirmary, he reminded himself. You are safe.
His chest was loosing its painful grip and his mind cleared enough for him to look around the room. There was no one in the room at present. He silently allowed a whisper of thanks float up to whatever gods were listening. He did not need people at this moment. He needed peace.
He spotted the bathroom that was at the end of the Infirmary. He bit his lip and peeked over to Madame Pomfrey's office door, contemplating a plan of action. To go or not to go?
Letting loose a soft sigh, Harry slowly slid his legs over the edge of the bed. He then gingerly placed his sore feet on the floor.
Shivering at the cold floor, Harry made his way haltingly over to the bathroom, using various objects as a handrail. His eyes shifted over to the Medi-witch's office door several times before he finally reached his destination.
Slipping quietly through the door, Harry allowed his facial features to relax in relief. He needed to take a shower. His skin still itched. It felt tight—like it was choking every part of his body. He fought against the urge to scratch the troublesome skin right off. The feeling needed to go away. It was either a shower or Madam Pomfrey's rage over self-mutilation. With that in mind, he slipped of his hospital robe and went over to the bathtub. His hands were shaking in anticipation. He needed it.
Hands turned on the shower to the hottest setting they could handle and swollen feet climbed into the shower stream.
Harry sighed. The water was painful but it was certainly medicinal. He could feel the metaphorical dirt sizzling away. His body heated up and the darkness that hid in the cold places was burned out. Sweat started to form on his face. It felt glorious.
After standing contentedly under the wonderful water for a few moments, Harry grasped the soap eagerly and started to viciously rub at his skin. It all had to come off. He needed to get rid of it. He could see it, feel it.
Hell, he could smell it.
And so he scrubbed.
Almost fearfully, Harry reached down between his legs. Here was where it was the filthiest. He prodded cautiously and was not surprised to find that although the ripped skin had been healed, it was sore. He stiffened his upper lip and started to clean the center of the filthiness. The center of his troubles.
~~HPSS~~
"Mister Potter! ... Mister Potter!"
Several sharp taps assaulted the oak door or the bathroom.
"Mister Potter, just what do you think you are doing? Come out here this instant, young man! You are supposed to be in bed. Resting!"
Harry cringed at the Medi-Witch's furious voice. She was right outside the bathroom having, apparently, heard the water running. He reluctantly left his disinfecting water and sorrowfully turned off the spray. He then stepped out of the shower to put on his robe.
"Mister Potter?!"
A few more abusive raps.
"I am coming, Madame Pomfrey!" Harry attempted to call out. It, however, resulted in only a raspy whisper. It seemed his throat was rather not in its prime. He did not try again.
Instead, he hobbled over to the door as quickly as his body allowed and opened the door.
He was met with an unamused Medi-Witch.
If a hint of sympathy was found in the stoic woman's face, neither one of them felt the need to acknowledge it.
"Mister Potter", she said again in a quieter tone, "Get into bed this instant." But no less demanding.
Conjuring a quick wheel chair, she ushered him to sit and wheeled him over to his bed in a jiffy.
Once next to his bed, he maneuvered onto it without complaint.
She nodded stiffly once he was settled safely and addressed him.
"Mister Potter, you are to stay in that bed until further notice. Headmaster Dumbledore will be down here shortly to speak with you. If at any point, you feel tired and/or pained, you are to tell me immediately and I will remove him."
She looked right into his eyes.
"I believe the Headmaster will have much to tell you. It will be hard to deal with. I will be here as well. You are to notify me if necessary. Understood?"
Her tone brooked no argument.
Harry nodded dully despite the fear creeping up his spine. He didn't want to speak to Dumbledore. He was not ready to face it. And just what hard-to-deal-with news was he going to be given. He could feel his eyes start to glaze over as he tried to cut off his panicked feelings. Maybe, he should tell Madame Pomfrey that he was not up to it already.
But no, he needed to get it over with.
It was just like ripping off a band-aid, he reassured himself. It would be better soon.
…
He didn't believe himself either.
~~HPSS~~
"How are you feeling, my boy?"
Light blue eyes looked softly at him through half-moon spectacles. There was no hint of a twinkle. Harry could not remember the headmaster ever looking so somber.
His eyes tingled and threatened to tear. He felt empty. What was he supposed to say? That he was hurt and he feared he would never be the same? That, even though it was not rational, a little part of him felt betrayed by the fact that he had not been saved? He couldn't.
He continued to look at Albus Dumbledore with flat eyes.
An emotion that looked a lot like hurt flashed through the old man's face as the silence drew on. Guilt welled up in Harry's throat but he could not change anything. He hurt too bad.
A quiet exhale broke the painful silence as the headmaster went to speak again.
"As I am sure you are aware, the Death Eaters attacked during the Hogsmeade weekend. What I am not sure if you are aware of was that it was two weeks ago. No one else was hurt; it was a very specific mission. Your friends are very worried. Miss Granger and Mister Weasley tell me that you were swiftly knocked unconscious in front of Zonko's and were immediately apparated away by a couple of Death Eaters." He paused.
"Do you wish to tell me what happened, Harry?" He gently inquired.
Harry's eyes stayed where they were—staring at his lax hands.
Dumbledore nodded quietly and continued to speak.
"You were found in the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid. You were in a rather serious state. After a busy night, Madame Pomfrey has declared you as well as can be expected. She has informed me that you are most likely still very sore. Your shoes were not found with you. You seem to have run quite a distance without them. Therefore, Madame Pomfrey is determined for you to stay in bed until your feet are healed."
He paused again.
The conversation hurt Harry. He hated to see Dumbledore so obviously torn up. He had never seen his headmaster so… troubled. He wanted to say something. He wanted to reassure him. But what was he going to say: It's alright, let's pretend this never happened? A part of him never wanted to hear about his ordeal again. But another part of him had to know the things that had happened that he could not remember. It was physically torturous, not only for the content but for the tension in the room. Harry longed to help his professor; he longed to soothe his professor's obviously hurting heart. But he couldn't. He could not bring himself to lift his eyes.
He could not take the risk that they would start to water and overflow once he did.
His eyes stayed put.
"Harry, my boy, I fear there is something very… important that I must tell you." Dumbledore's voice was heavy with responsibility.
Harry's heart quickened its pace.
"When Madame Pomfrey was examining you, she found… something unusual. I must ask you, Harry, were you given… did you ingest anything while you were held captive?"
Harry's heart was racing. 'Ingest' something? A flash of the dank cell he was held in came to his mind. The cup. The pain. Yes, he had. It was not poison was it? After all, he did not die from it. The pain suggested that it was immediately acting if it was indeed a poison.
His guts twisted from anxiety. What had it been?
"My boy? I fear it is gravely important to know."
Harry's head shot up. The headmaster leaned back slightly but then resumed his previous spot. He looked steadily at Harry, concern evident in his eyes.
Harry looked towards the headmaster but did not meet his eyes.
"Yes", he whispered hoarsely. "Yes, I did."
Glancing swiftly up at the headmaster's eyes, he glimpsed a confirmation in them. The headmaster had expected it.
Slowly, Dumbledore resumed. "Madame Pomfrey found a separate magical signature in your abdomen. We believe that you were given some sort of hermaphrodite potion. When this was further examined, Madame Pomfrey found that you now have a uterus in your body. And the uterus now has an… occupant."
Harry knew his eyes were blank.
"You are pregnant, Harry."