Chapter 17
The basement was just as Harry remembered it, although there were more people there than he remembered. He recognized the Lestranges, the two men and Bellatrix sitting against the far wall. The men watching the person in the center intensely while Bellatrix busied herself with her make-up. Adjacent to them, sitting by the torture tools, were two thick men built of equal fat and muscles and dressed in business suits. One man was very focused on polishing his shoe as he had his leg crossed over his knee, while the other looked around quietly. There were also, on the opposite side of the Lestranges, sitting next to empty cells, grim-faced people in black suits. In the center was the main event: a bloodied man tied in the chair just as Parkinson was all those times ago. Standing next to him was a tall lean handsome man, who was sharpening his knife.
Eyes turned to Harry as he entered, followed immediately by Voldemort. His followers all stood up and muttered, "My Lord."
The Lestranges all nodded knowingly to Harry's presence, while the others all watched with some bewildering puzzlement. Voldemort just chuckled at their responses and looked around, waiting. Immediately one of the grim-faced men stood and picked up his chair, offering it for Voldemort, placing it right in front of the soon-to-be-tortured prisoner. Voldemort stepped towards it, Harry following. "I have to wonder," Voldemort said aloud, "what I have done to cause you all to insult me in this matter. You produce a chair for me, so I can ask our guest a few questions, but not one soul here has dared to move to offer a chair to my dear fiancé?"
Bellatrix snorted, closing her compressed mirror as she pointed at another grim-faced man, "You, up," she said. The man she pointed to jumped out, scared, and dragged his chair directly next to Voldemort's. He turned to run away but Voldemort grabbed his hair, pulling him back roughly.
"What is your name?" he asked, though it did not bother to him. He knew this man's type. He was older than Voldemort by at least a decade. He was not part of his inner circle. These three gaunt faced men were leachers. Men hungry for power but have an inflated ego about themselves. "Warren," the man grunted. "Andrew Warren."
"Well, then you think to insult my fiancé, I believe that you need to relearn your manners. Crabbe! Goyle! Open the cell." He barked. The two big men jumped up and ran towards the cells at the end of the room. One of them opened the cell door while the other prepared a special chair that had spikes on its seat and back. Pulling by his hair, Voldemort dragged the older man towards the cell and threw him in. The man in the cell caught him and forced him onto the chair, his screams piercing the door. Harry flinched slightly but watched as he was strapped in. "The trick is to stay completely still," the big man in the cell chuckled. His voice sounded familiar and Harry figured that he was Goyle. "Move slightly to the left or right and, well, you're in for a rather nasty sting." He laughed at his own joke and patted the man's shoulder hard, causing him to fall further on the multiple spikes. The man screamed again, and Harry looked up at Voldemort.
"He's giving me a headache," he said.
"Gag him," Voldemort ordered. The other man, Crabbe, grabbed a long old cloth that was laying on the ground and moved into the cell, gagging the man before both men left the cell, closing and locking it and returned to their seats. Voldemort cleared his throat and looked at the handsome man in the center, "I apologize for that display of disobedience," he said. "I do hope that Mr. Warren's behavior has not soured my coin."
"It did not sir," the torturer said.
"Good, now if I understand your name is a Mr. Martin, but you are known in the professional circles as 'Dagger' correct?" Voldemort asked, "because of your preference towards them?"
"That is correct, sir," Mr. Martin said.
"And you take great pleasure in causing pain with these daggers?" Voldemort asked.
"I do," Mr. Martin said, giving a perverted, sadistic grin. "The feeling of my daggers dragging along flesh, cutting apart muscles and slowly etching into bones is a satisfying sensation to feel, sir."
"Excellent, then you will enjoy tonight as much as I will hopefully," Voldemort said. He looked at Harry, "Sit down," he commanded, indicating to the chair just left of the chair that was directly in front of the interrogation chair. There was about six feet distance between the interrogation and the two chairs, and Harry gladly sat down, looking up at his lover. Mr. Martin raised an eyebrow at this. "Two interrogators, sir?" he asked.
"No, he is my fiancé, and will just be watching, I shall be asking the questions," Voldemort said.
"If I may, sir, it is not commonly wise for people in our positions to bring our spouses in, unless they have already been introduced to this sort of profession, of course," Mr. Martin said.
"I've seen this stuff before," Harry spoke up. "I know what is going to happen, and I am looking forward to it. My husband has promised me a grizzly show, and I hope that you can live up to it, Mr. Martin."
Mr. Martin chuckled at that and nodded, "I will impress," he promised.
Voldemort sat down next to Harry, and for the first time examined their guest in the seat of honor. He looked completely unassuming. Older than both Harry and Voldemort, the man had short brown hair, wore just a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. He had bruises and shallow cuts over his face, the cuts staining parts of his face red with his blood. Like the man in the cage, he too had a gag cloth in his mouth.
Voldemort stared at the man for a moment before looking at Mr. Martin, "I don't think he will talk even if we are polite to him," he said, "Would you mind loosening him? I believe a finger will do."
The gagged man protested, but it did not move any of them as Mr. Martin pulled out a long, sharp dagger. Voldemort glanced at Harry subtly to make sure he watched. Harry was. His eyes were fixated on the knife, following it entirely in its arch as it slammed into flesh and bone, severing the pinky. The man screamed against the gag. Rabastan stood up and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping the finger in it and returned to his seat. "Now that we have a gift for Grindelwald, I feel like talking," Voldemort said. "Mr. Martin, if you will."
The torturer pulled the gag from the man's mouth and Voldemort leaned back. "Hello, I am sure you know who I am, now would you be kind enough to introduce yourself?" The man in the chair glared at Voldemort.
"Go fuck yourself," he sneered. Voldemort immediately stood up to punch the man, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it to the back of the chair hard enough that the wood groaned. "Now that was not very nice, was it?" Voldemort said, "All I wanted was your name, good sir."
"Like I'd talk to a faggot like you."
Voldemort's grip hardened and he held out his free hand for a knife. Mr. Martin provided, and Voldemort started carving the man's face, earning loud screams as more and more of the skin was peeled off. Harry winced at the screams and squirmed in his chair, doing his best to stay still. He felt weird, he didn't felt instantly sick, and yet he was both scared and fascinated as he watched his lover. In the screams, Harry thought he heard a name, but he couldn't make it out. Voldemort, however, seemed to hear it clearly as he smiled, "Now, was that so hard, Percival Graves?"
The man named Percival glared at Voldemort. Voldemort returned to his chair and smiled at Percival Graves. "Now, where to begin with your little master Grindelwald?" Voldemort purred. "Shall we begin with where he is and when he will arrive into my town?"
"Like I'll ever tell you about the Great Grindelwald!" Graves laughed. "He will kill you all and take over this miserable city—"
"I'm sorry I cannot hear you properly, Mr. Martin, can you perhaps extend his mouth?" Voldemort asked. Mr. Martin smirked and grabbed Percival's head. Harry watched as he forced his knife in the man's mouth and pulled against the edge of his lips. A strange muffled scream was heard, and when Mr. Martin moved away, all Harry saw was red and angry eyes. His eyes met with Percival's, and the man spat blood that sprayed onto Harry's cheek. It was wetly warm causing Harry to shiver disgustingly. Voldemort stood immediately and slammed his fist into the man's head, punching him again and again, grunting with each blow as his fists stained red. "I'm going to ask you again, you little bitch," Voldemort growled out. "Where is Grindelwald?"
"Boat, he's arriving soon by boat," Graves said, "or he's already here. He's going to kill you—"
Voldemort punched him again. He grabbed a knife from Mr. Martin and slammed the knife into Percival's arm, pushing until he couldn't push anymore then he dragged it towards him, Percival's screams filling the air. "Don't you dare threaten me or my fiancé," Voldemort sneered. He sat back down and nodded at Mr. Martin.
"See what else you can pull out of him," Voldemort commanded, and the torturer got to work.
Harry couldn't look away. He was all too aware of the blood spit on his cheek, the wet disgustingness slowly dragging downwards, but he couldn't move his hand to wipe it. He felt like his body was frozen, watching as Mr. Martin worked with his knives, cutting, and slicing the man in the chair earning so many different octaves of screams. Harry did not even knew that a person could scream so differently. The weirdest thing at all was that he didn't feel sick anymore. He felt oddly calm, enthralled even. He did not want to run away. He just wanted to watch and watch as the man's life bled out and his screams turned into ramblings as he provided nothing else useful before he fell into shock.
Voldemort sighed and stood up. He gave the man's head a couple slaps and punches, his hands getting bloodier still. Graves did not respond. Voldemort looked around. "Our fun is done," he said. "Crabbe, Goyle, clean up this mess, along with that mess over in the cage. I did not even noticing him dying," Voldemort nodded towards the cell. "Lestranges, I want men watching the piers. Mr. Martin, we will call upon your services next time." Without looking any anyone else, Voldemort left the basement, Harry getting up to follow him.
They moved to their bedroom where Voldemort pulled Harry into a demanding kiss. "Go clean up, Songbird," he commanded. "I want some fun tonight."
Harry moaned and looked up at his love, "Can we have fun… without cleaning?" he asked, blushing deeply. "Watching you be so violent it… it made me wet."
Voldemort smirked approvingly, pushing his Songbird to his knees. "Of course Harry, in that case, undress me."
"Yes my lord," Harry whispered, winking as he unbuttoned Voldemort's pants and pulled it and his underwear down in one expert pull. His reward was a large thick cock smacking against his cheek which got Harry to grin. He licked the head, moaning between little kisses as he tasted the musty flavor that was his lover. He kissed and licked down the impressive length to two balls which he gave equal reverence. "You're such a good wife, Harry," Voldemort said, his bloodied hands combing through Harry's hair. "You treat me so good. Was the torture everything you expected?"
"Yes, husband," Harry said.
"Good Songbird, and you get a reward for sitting through it all," Voldemort smirked, "get me wet." Harry smiled and kissed his way up Voldemort's cock before pushing forward, swallowing the thick appendage as he tried his best to be as sloppy as possible. Harry pushed himself down past his gagging point so he could bury himself in Voldemort's pubes, inhaling the rich smell as his throat constricted and spittle flooded from his lips as he gagged. Voldemort held him there until Harry started to feel dizzy. Harry pulled away, the cock slipping out of his mouth as he gasped. His chest pounded but he needed to do it again so when he caught is breath he once again deepthroated Voldemort, feeling the cock ram against the back of his throat and down. He groaned as Voldemort once again held him there. Harry pulled away once more and coughed.
"Get naked and lie on the bed with your head hanging off the edge," Voldemort commanded. "I'm going to fuck your mouth."
Harry nodded and took off all his clothes, revealing his own erection. He crawled towards the bed and laid on his back, looking up as Voldemort approached him. Harry happily opened his mouth, his tongue sticking out to catch Voldemort's cock as the man's hands went for Harry's throat. "Relax," he commanded and slowly slid in.
His cock easily went through Harry's mouth and into his throat, Voldemort admiring the outline of his cock he could see on Harry's neck. He kept his hands onto it and whispered a "fuck" as he felt the skin move up under his fingers as his cock slid deeper into Harry's throat before sliding back. Underneath him, Harry gagged and coughed, his throat constricting and feeling so good around Voldemort's cock. He stopped; his cock firmly planted inside. "Breathe, love, breathe through your nose," Voldemort instructed. "Remember, hit my leg three times if it's too much."
Harry nodded around the cock, his throat still convulsing as he breathed heavily through his nose. He started to feel lightheaded, his eyes were teary but still he soldier through as each breath gotten easier and easier. Harry moaned when he was ready, and Voldemort started to move once more.
The man was not gentle. He built up to a brutal pace, his hands holding Harry still as he used the boy as a sex toy. Harry gagged and sputtered, the cock opening his throat in ways it hasn't done before. He moaned and his cock got hard at the dehumanizing way he was used. He could see nothing but Voldemort's cock and balls. The man's strong muscles flexing as he thrust in and out, working with an almost demonic agility as precum and drool leaked from Harry's lips. The room filled with the sounds and smell of sex as Voldemort cursed and grunted before pulling out completely and cumming on Harry's face. Thick ropes splattered on Harry's face, some landing on his tongue and mouth as others stained his hair, forehead, and cheeks. Voldemort used his still hard cock to smear his cum around, smirking. "You look like such a whore Songbird," he said. "But that's what you are, you're Daddy's whore."
"Yes," Harry moaned. "Daddy's whore."
"Now show me your pussy like the good whore you are," Voldemort growled. He gave Harry's cheek a couple slaps to get him moving. Harry scrambled to turn around and spread his legs for Voldemort. The older man gave a satisfied noise as he stared at it. "Look at that," he purred, slipping a finger in easily. "No lube and you're already swallowing a finger. Such a whorish cunt you have. That needs punishing, Songbird."
"Sorry Daddy," Harry blushed.
"Don't be, you'll love this punishment," Voldemort chuckled. He pulled his finger out and grabbed a bottle of lube. He spread some around Harry's hole before rubbing his cock in a lubed hand. "Let's see if your hole knows its owner," he said, and slammed his cock in. The pain was delicious for Harry. He screamed and his cock jerked in reaction.
Voldemort never was gentle. He fucked Harry with a vicious beastly quality that Tom never had. It was scary, yet it turned Harry on. Under Voldemort's heavy hands, Harry came several times all untouched while Voldemort filled his hole again and again with his seed. "Make me pregnant," Harry whined, "Please! I need it!"
They only stopped when they were too exhausted to continued and so cum-covered and sweaty, Harry curled into Voldemort and fell asleep.
The next morning, Harry felt disgusting as the cum dried on his naked body. He groaned and kicked out his leg at Tom. "Ow! What was that for, love?" Tom muttered sleepily.
"I feel gross, come shower with me and help me clean up," Harry complained. Tom laughed at that, his hand reached down to Harry's loose and abused hole.
"Did Songbird's pussy get more of a pounding than he expected?" He asked in a mocking tone. "Daddy is so sorry."
"Daddy will be sorry when Songbird says no to sex," Harry said. That earned him a spank and an amused look from Tom.
"As if you can ever deny me," Tom said. He got out of bed and lifted Harry, carrying the younger man into the bathroom. "Why would you, my love, when you get pampered so?" He purred as he bathed Harry.
.
As he commanded, Tom had the ports of Hogwarts under heavy surveillance. Every day, he had reports of every person and shipment that entered and left Hogwarts via the sea. There was nothing unusual to report for all of January. Hogwarts functioned as normal, and the fears of Grindelwald slowly dampened to an anxiety as day in and day out, no reports of the man ever reached Tom or his people. Harry started his new semester at college, and Tom's focus split between making sure his love does well in school along with the reports from the docks.
It was a crisp day in February, the sun was shining down on Hogwarts when in its station, an express from across the country slowly pulled in. The doors opened and a crowd of people walked out. They all moved as one as they walked off the platform and into the station before splintering off to their own destination. A group moved towards the glass doors that led outside and into the city streets where the group would still split further, going up or down depending on their destination. Except for one man. He followed the crowd from the train, down the platform into the station, onto the streets, all while being one of the mindless, shrinking mob of pedestrians until he stopped right outside the train station and took a breath.
He was an older man of forties with bleached blonde hair and a well-kept mustache and goatee. The man was dressed in a dark suit, wearing a black overcoat and hat which he took off as he breathed deeply in, his eyes yellow as he turned around slowly, humming his own tune. After one full rotation, the man stopped, replaced his hat on his head and turned, walking down the street as he continued to hum his merry tune, taking a tourist's pace as he strolled around Hogwarts.
A/N: So I was going to put in a full on sex scene but then I got lazy.