Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. I write this out of pure personal pleasure, and the desire to bring happiness to other fans. And my pockets don´t want anything in return. Thanks.

Warning: This story contains yaoi, it means love between men. As much as drama and suffering, supernatural creatures and sex related scenes.

Summary: When seven years after the war, Draco Malfoy escapes from his cell in Azkaban, the ministry has no choice but to send his best Auror, Harry Potter, to capture him again. Between the walls of the world's toughest prison, Harry will discover not only the origin of the most terrifying creatures, but a love against time.

Note: Um… I know I have said this already but… I´m EVIL. Very, very evil XD But don´t hate there will be a happy ending… somehow. XD

Thanks all of you for your comments, they really cheered me up. ;)

Dementor Kiss

Chapter 18- Devil-2

Harry felt his anger rise flame like. A fury like never he had felt before igniting, as if some unknown part of himself had been awakened and was adding his hatred to his. He saw red.
And attacked.

Lightning, ice, darkness, light; Chaos, destruction… A wild hurricane unleashed by the forces of the two opponents.
Harry was not sure about what was happening, he acted on instinct, attacking and defending with brutal efficiency, his magic had never reacted so strong and fast, even with a wand.
But the Dementor Lord was not a weak creature either. He attacked with the speed of a scorpion; unpredictable, fast and lethal. Powerful. Maybe he could not call his own magic, but had had centuries to learn how to handle the power of the curse: The darkness, fear, cold... Harry trembled almost convulsively.
He felt his energies fail. The wounds, the strains of handling so much power, the blood loss... his body could not give more. Muscles and bones seemed to crack and burn with the effort.
Suddenly, he could not stop the next attack.
Harry went down under an icy wave that froze the scream on his lungs. The auror couldn´t breathe. He gasped for air trying futilely to take some, convulsed.
"Am I going to die?" -His gaze fixed on Dracos limp form, and felt helpless. He should have saved him. He should have taken care of him. And Harry felt the hopelessness, self-loathing, self-hatred start taking his mind... black spots began to dance before green eyes.
The Dementor Lord watched it all with a smile.
"Good-bye, father."
The doors flew open.

oOo

Hermione was furious and worried. Harry was left alone to face the Dementor Lord. It was crazy!
When she woke up in Rons arms on the area floo of the ministry, Mione had given her friend the rant of his life. How could the red haired man leave his best friend alone?!
He did not think about the outcome? But she did stop yelling at Ron, though not to let him escape, but because they had to talk to Kingsley, NOW!
The two aurors burst into the office of their friend without knocking, even ignoring the cries of his secretary. Planted palms on the desk and spoke bluntly, as quickly as possible, about the thing that had taken place.
"We have to go rescue Harry!" – Mione ended anxious.
Kingsley, much more calm and composed, stood from his chair.
"Miss Charlotte." – Called for his secretary, who had been wringing her hands without knowing what to do, frozen on the spot.
"Yes Mr. Kingsley?"
"Please go ask the Auror section to assemble team immediately, we must go to Azkaban." – The minister ordered. His aura of severe inflexibility, making the good woman run to accomplish his command.
"Yes, sir. Immediately."
The minister picked up his coat and his wand. If what Granger had told him was true, they faced a severe problem that needed to be solved on the spot. Losing the support of the Dementors for a second time... I had seen havoc when the monsters had sided with the dark Lord during the war. And though they could not get out of Azkaban without the object that commanded their presence... it was, still, a situation they could not allow. He must go in person, knew the Dementor Lord would not accept negotiating with anyone else.
Charlotte came running back.
"The Aurors are waiting on the floo area, sir."
"Good work miss Charlotte. Granger, Wesley."- He turned to his two friends. – "Let's get moving."
Thanks to Merlin, for the track spell that allowed Aurors to know if there were any of their companions nearby. Without it, they would not have managed to find the way through the tower.

oOo

They heard Harrys cry.
Eight Aurors, Kingsley, Ron and Mione, ran to open the molten metal doors, and burst inside.
The last light of day illuminated the room with its blood red hue. The only standing figure... Hermione gulped.
"The Dementor Lord..." - She managed to mutter, against the terror that wanted to choke her.

At her side, Ron took a step back. The other aurors appeared to experience similar reactions. Only Kingsley seemed unperturbed.
A muffled groan, her best friends pain, cleared the shock of being in the presence of something so dark for the first time. Hermione looked... and ran.
"Harry!" – She ignored Rons attempt to hold her to his side, even if it was a protective gesture, because her other friend need her, now. – "Oh my God. Harry can you hear me?"
There was frost on his hair, on his skin, on his clothes... a top his blue lips.

He seemed to be choking, unable to take oxygen. Immediately, she launched one after another several heat spells, one to help the functioning of his lungs and other to close the wounds that had been reopened. Luckily they had been able to recover their wands in the way here. Some of the Dementors having dropped them in their haste to escape the aurors Patronusses.
The Dementor Lord ignored Hermiones attempts to save her friend. His eyes fixed on Kingsley.
"Minister." – he nodded in recognition.

The man returned the gesture:
"Lord Dementor."
"Can I know why are you in our tower? This is forbidden territory for you, wizards."
Kingsley did not miss the slight angle of the hood, pointing at Harry.
"We know, and hope you accept our apologies. We have only come for one lost Auror."- Set in stone, his face only reflected seriousness.
"The Auror ... – Griever looked at Harry, slumped on the floor against the curly haired woman who was trying to save him. – He broke the treaty. I demand the man be punishment accordingly." - Darkness inside the room became a little deeper. His calm tone fooled no one. Not with such had a lethal background hiss.
"I will personally address his lack of discipline." - Harry had stupidly breached a rule set in stone. The Dementor tower was inviolable territory. - "But he was just here on official duty, trying to find an escaped prisoner, that I see is here. It's not him Mr. Malfoy?" –

Draco, unconscious at the feet of the Lord was still shaking. Harry may have done wrong coming here, but it was not on a whim.

"Taking prisoners from their cells without authorization is also punishable." – The minister gave the dementor a cold look.
"Mr Malfoy can hardly be called a prisoner. Tonight will end its transformation into dementor. I thought it would be easier for him if he was with his own people."- He said gently. The message clear; Draco was his.
Kingsley nodded.

"So I was reported by auror Granger. However, to avoid misunderstandings, you should have informed the authorities before taking him from his cell."
Griever nodded.

"Yes, of course. I should have, but in the joy of finding another of us I forgot completely."
Hermione glared. Ask? How could that monster be lying so blatantly? She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped at Kigsleys warning gaze.
"I understand perfectly. Can we then, just assume this was an unpleasant misunderstanding?"- He offered his hand in a clear gesture of business, and the Lord shook it closing their agreement.
"Of course minister. But I would, appreciate, for your Aurors not to return and break into our home." - Hissed a veiled threat.
Kingsley nodded steel like.

"Of course."- He turned to the Aurors . – "Auror Packer, auror Wilson, help Auror Grager with the transportation of Auror Potter.
Immediately they were quick to pick up their unconscious partner. At last, he took in the presence of a woman huddled in the corner. She seemed another prisoner.
"Auror MacFray, collect the woman." – The man was quick to help Pansy, still in shock, to rise.
"We will retire then." - had already gotten what they wanted.
"Have a nice day minister." - Hissed with a venomous smile Griever.
"Same to you Lord Dementor." – Kingsley replied with a hard look.
They left the tower abandoning Draco there. Nothing could be done for him, and trying would have broken the treaty. Kingsley knew it too well. Draco was no longer human, no longer was his welfare responsibility of the Ministry. Or so he tried to believe, while he looked away from the prostrated on the ground boy. Guilt hissing inside his breast.

oOo

With the Aurors finally gone, the last rays of sun on the horizon slowly being extinguished; the luminous disk swallowed by the raging sea. In just a moment, the true appearance of Draco would begin to emerge, soaked by the first rays of the cold moon.
Griever placed the blond on the obsidian-made altar.
The polished black stone, contrasting beautifully with white skin and silver hair. Almost tenderly, the Lord brushed a nearly uncolored hair strand that had fallen over Dracos forehead.
"Soon, very soon, you will be mine Draco." Yes, but first, the ceremony that his father had interrupted, had to be completed. They were to welcome the newest member of the tower, see him be born.
Griever stepped over to the window and opened the huge glass panels. The incipient night breeze quivered on his robe.
"Brothers,- he said, voice cold as ice, strong as sea currents- come, appear at my call."- The Dementors hidden on the prison corners, heard, and felt, the call –"Born will be the last of us!" - Jubilation swept their spectral bodies – "Come to witness it, come to accept him in our midst!" –Griever began to move, back to the man sprawled on the altar –"Shall we receive him in our arms!" - And a welcome hiss rose through Azkaban.

The last dementor would be born. Everyone wanted to see his awakening.
They came as a wave of shadows, one by one, lighting the candles, igniting the incense stalks. They bringed water bowls, soaps, oils and perfumes, that were more than four centuries old. Moth-eaten silks and silver-handled brushes on their skeletal hands, as they filled the circle surrounding the altar, watching the young man, taking in every detail of his current form, knowing that soon it would change forever, holding it in memory.

The sun had gone. The moon was rising from her sleep.
The silver orb made its appearance through the clouds, the cold light of its rays poured into the room through the windows, danced in the rings that made the incense smoke swayed with the orange light of the candles, and finally, spilled over the present on the altar... the inert body of Draco.
It bathed his body accentuating the pale shade of his skin, shining on his hair.
For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen...
Until a scream was torn from the blond, and the sound echoed on the stone walls. An inhuman howl that made the prisoners quiver in their cells. The last sound of a dying soul, a cry that wasn´t heard in Azkaban in four centuries.
Draco opened his eyes.
Pain. Pain. Pain. PAIN.
He had never felt anything like this, never believed that such suffering could exist. He shouted again with all his might, even if his vocal cords were broken could not stop. His flesh seemed to be melting. His bones breaking and reforming to make something different. His body changing in ways Draco could not even imagine, could not stand, could not take, could not... Gray eyes widened. He squirmed desperately, back arched so much his spine creaked like it would break.
Draco howled through his bleeding throat. The pain intensified. It was as if something ... something different to his meat, was trying to merge with his blood and other fluids, nerves and muscles, bones… It was too much.
His mind screamed unable to take so much horror, he would go crazy if it didn´t stop. Suddenly an icy mantle fell upon his conscience, and thankfully, finally fell unconscious.
Draco went limp.
The moonlight swirled over his body, as small faintly luminous particles, coldly reflecting on the polished obsidian as ghostly fireflies.
More and more of those minuscule light balls came, forming a thin veil like spider web on Dracos body, slowly solidifying, making it thicker, until it weaved a robe that covered him entirely. The hood over his face, every inch of skin enclosed.
The Dementors looked at the process, almost in a trance. Under that eerie cocoon everyone knew that the body was changing.
They had seen him suffer and agonize as his magic merged with his body, now it was his souls turn.
Within minutes, the light would be extinguished and the fabric would become black as night. The process would be complete. Dracos body would be mutated by the absorbing of the sins of his soul, and it would remain that way forever after. The same body for how long he existed... the same body for eternity.
The fabric light slowly died. Extinguished in the darkness...
A low hiss, barely present, then another, then more, rose in the dementor circle; curious and puzzled sounds. The dementors whispered among themselves.
"White ..."
"His robe is white."
"What does it mean?"
"Why only him?"
"Malfoys robes... are white."
Only the Dementor Lord remained silent. On his lips, under the hood, there was a predatory, full of satisfied cruelty, smile.
Yes... everything was going as he had planned.
"Be silent." – the Lord ordered coldly. No need to raise his voice, since the dementors fell silent at once.

Draco shivered slightly. I hurt all over. Every little movement was agony. He was so exhausted... but the voice of the Lord Dementor penetrated the mist on his mind, ordering his awakening, and he couldn´t disobey.
Draco opened his eyes.
Harry...- Thinking about his bright green eyes, helped him gather the little strength he had left. His eyelids barely parted.
From his position sprawled on the altar, Draco could see a mass of dementors just a few meters away.

'Rise, Draco.' - The Dark Lords voice echoed for him. Exhaustingly, almost powerless, he turned his head to look at his new master.
If before the creature had been impressive, now... now he could feel the aura of power around his frame like something tangible; a layer of darkness blacker than night itself. It was attractive, horrible and suffocating at once. It choked Draco without even trying.
He trembled like a leaf. Something within him was telling his mind to obey. He felt like a puppet, and the Dementor Lord was the one who pulled the strings.
The blond placed his palms on the stone to hold in to it, and tried to obey. The very fact of moving made him nauseous. He gasped and attempted to sit up, but his arms quivered and failed him. He collapsed.
The Lord hissed.
'Can´t you even complete a simple order?' - The contempt in his voice was all encompassing. – 'I take it then that you don´t want to continue protecting the Auror?'
Draco felt his breath stop at the threat. No, Harry wouldn´t be killed for something so trivial, right? It wasn´t his fault he was so exhausted.
He looked up... and saw that the Lord was smiling sadistically.

He wants an excuse to kill him! Now that I'm one of them does not need Harry alive. But he also knew that the monster would not break his word, he was sure of it. His noble blood would not let him. While Draco obeyed, Griever wouldn´t touch Harry.
He had to get up!
Harrys green eyes, his gentle smile... gave the new dementor the strength he needed to get up, even when his every muscle resented the treatment, and he thought he would faint. But he forced his body to function despite the agony, and while trembling and convulsed, managed to sit on the altar.

His breathing came fast, like right after a marathon. Everything was spinning. He thought he would vomit, felt cold sweat ran down his temple.
There was a sweet smell in the air, Draco realized. It came from the burning incense around the room. It was night. Moon beams and candle light bathed all dementors of Azkaban; a crowd of night-black, tattered, spectral robes; skeletal hands and ghostly whispers that seemed to come from every hood.
But Dracos focused attention was on the monster at his side; The Dementor Lord.

He could hardly breathe in the darkness that surrounded the creature, coughed violently. Dizziness came over him and he had to lay hands on the stone just to hold upright.
'Withdraw your hood.' – Griever ordered.

How much would Draco be able to resist? How much longer Draco believed he could protect the Auror? It was not like now that Potter was out of Azkaban, Griever could hurt him, but the blond didn´t know that. So… how much more he would take?
The Lords gaze nailed itself to the whites hood, in anticipating of what would be underneath; wasn´t entirely sure of what kind of changes had taken place in the man. The gnawing hunger of wanting to know, sharp inside.
He watched as elegant pale trembling hands, rose to remove the cloth that covered...
The hood slipped and fell on his back.
Moonlighting.
The hair that slid gently to his shoulders was like moonlight. So fair, so beautiful. It had a slight luminescence of its own, as if every strand had absorbed some moonlight and now it shone faintly in each lock. His skin was porcelain-like, perfect fragile and white, as if the man really were a doll.
But what really caused the chorus of whispers that rose around the room like a wave, was his face.
If you asked a master artist to paint the face of the deepest, most broken, sadness, he could only make a shadow of his portrait.
All the pain, love, and grief, had tinted in the most beautiful way his features.
His gray eyes were the color of rain and gloom. Like someone had distilled the very essence of sadness to pour into the depths of his irises.
Delicate mauve circles as watercolor stains had been forever imprinted on the skin around them; a makeup of tears and sleepless nights.
Gentle hollow cheeks. Long silver eyelashes, to ensure a look able to make hearts weep. And lips made for sighs and whispers, so delicate, red and moist as camellia petals; the flower of the dead, the flower of sadness, the flower that, even when it falls from the tree, is still beautiful.
The Dementor Lord felt, for the first time in its existence, a slight, barely present, pang in his chest.
He had never seen anything so absolutely beautiful and fragile. Dracos skin was so thin, his eyes so large and vulnerable, he looked so lost... so small and fragile...
Something swirled inside his breast, like a fish swimming lazy. What was that?
He frowned. But it seemed it wasn´t something to worry about. The strange feeling did not cause any other desire than to take him to his bed. Something that Griever was going to do nonetheless. So the Dark Lord dismissed the sentiment as unimportant.

Draco could barely stand. He trembled uncontrollably.
The Dementor Lord knew he would soon collapse, lifted his face to the sky. The ceremony had to be completed.
He raised his arms as an act of prayer, moonlight bathed him with his icy glare. Grievers dark aura languidly waved around, as in response to an invisible disturbance of the air.
It started as a low whisper, and with increasing force, the hiss of the dementors began to rise, interlacing and forming a painful melody of frost; a death song, a hymn of welcome. And when the voice of the Lord of the Tower joined the melody, all the dementors fell down before him.
Draco felt dizzy, rocked by the song. Each note seemed to intertwine with him; petted and cooed him like a lullaby. The Lord approached the altar, until he was before Draco, only centimeters away.
What was going on?
Griever drew from his tunic a silver ceremonial dagger. Its curved blade glistened. Draco did not even react to the danger. Everything suddenly seemed so hazy...
But when the blade slid the Lords wrist, spilling black as oil blood, he finally found his voice.
'Wha...' - He could not move, could not look away. The music seemed to be tying him to place. He tried to resist but he felt like a puppet, could not even really try.
'Lick it.' –Stained fingers offered Draco the vital fluid that had crept up to them as sinister black streaks; Blood.
The song became more powerful, more urgent. Before he knew it, his lips were half parted... his tongue touching the icy skin. The sticky substance was… he didn´t know ... didn´t know… He couldn´t...

The world tilted sharply.
Draco fell into darkness.

oOo

(Draco)

He was weak, could not move, could not hear the music… there was soft cloth against his cheek, arms around his body; the sound of a heartbeat under his ear.
Someone was carrying him.
Draco wanted to open his eyes and see who it was, but he was so tired...
'William close the door behind you and stay out guarding it. I don´t want anyone bothering us.'

He knew that voice.

The one holding him was the Dementor Lord.

Barely Draco heard the other dementor nod and then the creak of the closing door.
Finally, he managed to get make his silver eyelashes to shudder, opening them to reveal irises like rain.
Draco blinked.

The powdered glass, the huge marble fireplace carved with roaring lions, the shelves full to the brim with ancient volumes lined up on each wall. The sofa area around the tea table, the couch, the hundreds of candles that could barely illuminate the space... and the gigantic four posted bed surrounded by red velvet curtains… were impossible to mistake. This were the Dark Lords rooms. Even so, he was not nervous, not frightened.

Draco felt himself be deposited on the big bed, but could not move. Anyway, the fluffy mattress was stuffed with feathers, and he was so very tired... The slytherin sighed, letting his body relax by degrees.
It was so nice to rest his battered body on something more comfortable than stone...

'So you're awake.' –said the one who had been transporting him.

He nodded to show that he was awake.
The Dementor Lord seemed pleased by the gesture.

'That´s good, I did not like the idea of you being unconscious during our first night together.' – The gently displayed wish, more terrifying than the statement itself, finally entered the fog around Dracos mind, bringing growing panic that threatening to drown his mind.

Draco forced himself to take a breath, to inhale more deeply. With difficulty, he managed to control himself. He had known what was expected of him, and had been willing to do it to save Harry; was not going to back down now, not after everything he had already sacrificed. And it wasn´t like he hadn´t suffered something like it before, at Tomas hands...
Draco swallowed and recomposed the mask of indifference from earlier.
He could barely speak, let alone move... it hurt all over.
It was going to hurt more... he knew it, but was prepared.
Lying in bed as a sacrifice to the monster… Draco stopped being afraid. What could this monster make him that he had not suffered already?
There was only one reason still, for wich to dread the oncoming intimacy.
He didn´t ... didn´t want to forget the feeling of Harry, the sound of his voice, the way he had looked when they made love; so warm, so passionate... Draco knew that sooner or later, under the constant rubbing of another skin, it all would eventually fade and be forgotten ... and he just wouldn´t be able to move forward if that happened.
But he would cling to the memories, remember for how long his mind could, because when he finally did forget Harry ... he would die.
He could feel it.
The memories, the love for the heroic green eyed auror, were the light that kept at bay the darkness that threatened to swallow Draco Malfoy, when they were gone... the blond would cease to exist.

'Look at me.'

Unable to disobey, Dracos long lashes lifted, revealing a sadness that stole Grievers breath for a moment. Draco was beautiful.
He stroked his cheek. Did not even know why he suddenly was feeling the desire to reassure the little white.

'I will be careful. If you don´t resist I will not hurt you. Submit and I give you my word that it will not hurt.' - The quiet seriousness in his voice almost calmed Draco. – 'Are you going to behave?' - A claw brushed his cheek as a warning.
The white just nodded, had no strength for more.

'Good.' – The monster began to undress him, removing the pale tunic with slow care. Letting his fingers gently caress the exposed skin... he realized that Draco was shaking almost imperceptibly, trembling. But didn´t stop; finished removing the cloth, sliding it down white frail legs, letting it fall on the nightstand beside the bed.
The Lord absorbed every detail of Dracos naked body; drank from the sight of his slender legs, svelte shoulders, fragile clavicles, his very narrow waist... pink nipples, sharp hips, thighs... His white skin almost seemed to glow under the amber candlelight; a jewel fallen on the gold embroidered, red velvet, quilt.
A creature made of porcelain, crystal, silver and sadness. He seemed very fragile... and the expression on his face...; pity, resignation, determination... offering no resistance... Something lazy twisted inside Grievers chest again.
In an almost tender gesture, the Devil brushed a lock of silver hair from a pale cheek.

"I will tell you what will happen.' – His almost reassuring voice eased some of the tension that had Draco in its clutches. – 'I've been waiting too long and lack the patience to take more time, so there will be no preambles. You will not resist and will not complain.' – He felt the small body tense again under his hand still resting on Dracos cheek. – 'But you have permission to weep.' - Said almost gently, and stroked the soft skin tenderly. – 'If at any time you cannot take it... say it.' – The Dark Creature surprised himself by making this offer. But he discovered that for some reason the idea of damaging more the fragile man... was not as appetizing any more.

Draco nodded again.

Why would the Lord offer this to him? He didn´t understand. But right now he would take whatever consolation he could.
The Lord Dementor retired his own hood, and began to undress. The fabric sliding down his body... until the tunic was just black folds at his feet.
Draco gasped. That... That was going to be in it? ... panic threatened to make him cry. But it was not just panic right? He could not catch his breath.
The Dementor Lord was not a monster... he was a demon. He was... Merlin! He shivered. The air came out his lips in hysterical small puffs.
The first thing he saw was his skin. It was red and black, thick and scaly like a snakes, stretched over wildly defined muscles.
The creature could crush him with one hand.
Through long black as coal hair, Draco glimpsed his face; black petroleum eyes without pupils... or irises... just a deep darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. They looked unfathomable, terrifying, attractive, diabolical. The blond could not look away.
His features were demonic... but somehow... darkly... exotic. When his lips parted Draco saw two rounds of sharp fangs.

'ARE YOU AFRAID?' - Hissed the devil. Draco shuddered but did not speak.
Convulsive, he made himself nod. His vocal cords unable to work.
The Lords hissing laughter wrapped him, intoxicating. The creature wasted no time in returning to the bed, climbed his body until Draco was trapped under him. The blond could feel the soft scales against his own skin. Chest to chest, hips to hips. His heart skipped a beat when his hard member brush his own lower abdomen. Draco gazed to the site, unwilling to look, but Griever took his chin and made him.
He gasped.
Those dark eyes... trapped him... were so profound he feared drowning in them.
The being smiled, sharp teeth gleaming in the candle light.
And his lips descended on Dracos in a possessive brutal kiss. The slytherin felt fingers stroke his inner thigh and the surprise made him open his lips. The tongue of the Dark Lord swallowed the small sound of protest, and slid into his mouth conquering it.
Draco groaned.

Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin. - He did not know what the reason was, but his saliva ...Oh Merlin! It was like an aphrodisiac; It was sweet and sticky like candy, and Draco just seemed unable to get enough of it. He discovered himself responding to the kiss, even though not really wanting to.
What´s happening to me? -He felt the panic rise again, recognized the feeling of helplessness, lack of control over his body, the not really his, desire,... it was almost like being under a imperius.
Their lips parted briefly, almost touching, could feel the devils taste in his mouth, and the notion caused him disgust and pleasure at the same time.

'Do you feel it?- said the Lord- Now you belong to me. Like all the other dementors of Azkaban.' – Griever laughed diabolically at Dracos uncomprehending stare. – 'A, yes... the curse requires the dementors obey the most powerful of them. A measure to keep us, more... controlled. We could say. It`s easier if you have someone to organize the monsters for you, right?' - His eyes sowed plainly what he thought of the ministry; Disgust. – 'Especially if you can handle that one. Yes. The magic item in the ministry allows them to manipulate me to some extent.' - Gently stroked one of Dracos pink nipples, and the blond could not suppress the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips, even if he hated himself for it. – 'But it also gives me a great power over you; the dementors below me. And you, Draco, that also have my blood in your veins... - Almost tenderly kissed his cheek. - Just cannot deny me.'
The horror enlarged Dracos pupils.
'No ...' - He felt those fingers return to stroking him; further up his inner thigh until they touched is entrance.
He moaned, sobbed, did not enjoy it ... but could not help the pleasure raking his veins like fire. He felt so disgusted by himself, by his weakness, by his inability to resist. For wanting it, even against his will.
An attack of nausea threatened to make him vomit, and he bit his lip so hard that blood slid down them, bright red. The Lord took some droplets with the tip of a finger, observing their bright colour, and a leer flourished in his mouth.

'Stop. Pain`s not going to help.'

When Draco finally did obey, Griever slipped a bloodstained finger over his lips, dyeing them bright crimson and sensual. He smiled.

'Beautiful. But I can´t wait more.'

He took a jar from the nightstand; a look-trough glass bottle, that seemed to contain a honey-like substance. When uncorked, a pleasant scent of flowers filled the room. And Draco held his breath. Not for nothing he had always liked potions. He immediately recognized what it was: pixie nectar. A substance with aphrodisiac and healing qualities, that was made with the honey those tiny fairy collected.
He felt the Dementor Lord separate his thighs and lift his hips, positioning himself.

'No... enough.' - He did not want it, could not want it.

Draco squirmed, but his body did not have more energies left to try and scape. The Lord simply took a sip from the bottle... and kissed him. The sticky substance filled Dracos mouth. He refused to swallow. But the devil didn´t end the kiss until the spell overpowered his will, and the nectar slid down his throat like pure sweet sugar.
Immediately, Draco lost all control over his body, over his thoughts and desires.
He squirmed desperately under the other. Although his whole body hurt, suffering was overshadowed by the burning wave of desire that took him. He needed more contact, needed to feel him inside his body. His insides ached from the void of Grievers absence.
'Please.' - Groaned in agony. He screwed the dark lord with his arms and legs, in a desperate plea for sex.

The Lord laughed darkly and kissed him again. Possessing, claiming, marking him with liquid intensity.
Draco s fingers tangled in his hair pulling him even nearer, mad with desire.

'Do you want me inside you?' – An almost mocking whisper stroking his earlobe. A shiver of pleasure ran through Draco like electricity. He could not wait more, needed him, needed him so much... The desire was so intense it hurt. It was driving him crazy.

'Please ... please ... yes.' - rose his hips, rubbing against the others member. Inside, his heart cried, cracked, desperate tears slid down his cheeks even as his body arched in pleasure at the first touch of cock.
The Lord pushed. Draco screamed. An agonized sound that was half moan half tortured howl.
'Do not resist. You will suffer less.' – The devil kept pushing, banging, possessing.

Draco didn´t know anymore what he was feeling; pain or pleasure. Each thrust was an agony, a pleasure, a torture. His throat felt torn from screaming so hard. Nails embedded firmly on the shoulders of the monster. Why? To remove him, or to keep him? He had forgotten.

Griever did not seem to mind, even when black blood began to slide down his chest from the wounds opened by Dracos nails. His thrusts were becoming more powerful, more frantic... it seemed that his resistance had no limit. Draco could not help but weep, even when from his lips only fell passionate moans.
The Dementor Lord arched, rammed one last time sinking entirely into him ... and exploded. Draco followed in a wave that broke him inside.
And when the Lord departed from him letting his cum slide down his thighs...
All Draco felt, was a broken, hopeless, desire to die.
'Harry forgive me, please.'

It will continue.