Okay a few things need to be said about this chapter. First, you will notice I skipped 12. I have it 1/4 of the way written but my Muse hit me in the middle of the night for this one. I'll get 12 out soon.
Second, I may have went to far or not far enough with this one. I've stayed on the soft side of non-con during previous chapters but this one, while not graphic, was a little more heavy. So underage/cousin/non-con warnings here! I may or may not add a graphic version of this chapter as a stand alone one-shot later. If you'd like that give me a shout-out in the comments.
Hope you enjoy!
The ice cold wind swept through the surrounding trees, sending leaves of every color down like pelting rain. The ones that had already fallen were swept up in large whirlwinds that twirled widely down the gravel road. Above, a bright sky laden with white fluffy clouds completed the perfect autumn day, making it marvelous weather for a trip to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately for Harry, it wasn't any normal Hogsmeade weekend.
He, Hermione, and Ron had walked the long path from the castle to the small village with laughter and plans of visiting Honeydukes first thing. Harry played along, chuckling and talking about all the candy he planned on buying even though he knew he would never make it to the sweet shop. It took every fiber in his body to keep him from screaming and running back to the castle; hiding under his covers like a scared child. But he was a scared child.
Turning the corner that led to the main street, Harry tried to calm the anxiety building within his chest. The road was packed full of laughing students who were scrambling from one window to another, pointing and gawking at the contents. Others were filtering into the Three Broomsticks for a warm drink of butterbeer. Harry would have given anything to be a normal student, excited for a day of shopping and drinking; instead he was dreading the moment they would reach Honeydukes's door.
Weaving through the crowd, they arrived at the shop's landing in what seemed like record time. Taking one last deep breath, Harry set his mind on the task at hand.
"Bollocks," he exclaimed, bringing a hand up to his forehead. The pair turned to look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "I've forgotten I had a meeting with Professor Dumbledore this morning."
"Oh come on Harry," Ron said, his shoulders slumping more than usual. "It's our first visit. Just tell him you forgot."
"I'll just run up and see what he wanted. Surely it won't take long," Harry assured them. "I'll meet you guys in the Three Broomsticks for lunch."
Ron and Hermione gave each other a fleeting glance. "You want us to come with you," Hermione asked, and Harry was aggravated to hear a touch of worry in her voice. Had they been given orders not to leave his side? Was he so fragile that he couldn't go to Hogsmeade without someone watching over him?
"I'm fine. Really," he added as Hermione looked on the verge of arguing. "It'll only take a minute." And with that he turned briskly on his heal, returning back up the street.
He reached the fork in the road, one street heading back to the castle, the other winding its way up to the Hog's Head pub. Looking longingly at the castle, he stood frozen, hands buried deep into his jacket pockets, as a conflicting battle raged in his mind. He could return to the warmth of the castle, argue that he hadn't been able to shake Ron and Hermione; or he could do as he was told and find whoever was waiting for him at The Hog's Head.
INow, now Harry. Let's not start out this way/I came a sharp voice inside his head. He knew it was no use arguing and turned up the gravel walk to the pub.
A sudden thought occurred to him; wouldn't it be suspicious if he was seen leaving the pub with an adult? But before he'd had time to ponder the question, a strong hand gripped his bicep, steering him towards the alley that ran behind the building. Another hand snaked into his pocket, collecting his wand from inside it's depths.
"Glad you could make it, Potter," said the gruff voice that Harry recognized as Yaxley. He had had only one encounter with the man, though he was sure he would never forget it. After trying to escape during the summer, he had held Harry's head underwater in a drainage ditch. Now, his fingers were digging unpleasantly into his arm.
Harry jerked his arm to the side to free it from the man's tight fingers, but Yaxley twisted it backwards painfully and slammed him face first against the rough brick wall. Letting out a grunt, Harry felt the Death Eater's weight pushing against his pinned limb, bearing down until he thought it would snap.
"Ger off," Harry ground out through beared teeth. He was rewarded with another push that caused him to cry out.
"Start cooperating then," Yaxley said softly. He pulled Harry away from the wall with a sharp jerk. " Now come on, we're late." Glancing up the alley, Yaxley tightened his grip and turned on the spot.
A familiar squeezing sensation spread over Harry's body, and he fought to breathe through constricted lungs. It only lasted a second. Before he knew it, he was stumbling forward on bright white gravel, his knees digging in as he fell. Yaxley let out a chuckle before wrenching him to his feet and half dragging him up the walk.
The weather had changed dramatically. Instead of leaves, rain was falling from the soft grey sky in a light mist that clung to the hedges that were growing around the lawn. Harry recognized them immediately as the ones he'd sprinted through on the night of his attempted escape. In the light he could see a beautiful fountain sparkling nearby, it's water arching high in the air from the top spout.
They reached the front marble steps, and the enormous door sprang wide allowing them entrance to the main hall. Ahead of them was a immense staircase, it's grand steps leading to an open balcony that over looked the vast hall. Harry wondered how many rooms the manor had, but before he could consider it further they were moving again. Instead of mounting the steps, Yaxley turned him to the left, leading him towards an open door.
Inside was a prodigious fireplace surrounded by expensive looking couches and rigid high back chairs. Along two walls were shelves of books that reached the tall ceilings. A warm fire flickered in the grate, casting a comforting light around the room.
Voldemort was looking out of one of the ceiling high windows that lined another wall, his arm crossed over his chest. He seemed so normal standing there, his jet black hair helping to complete the illusion. As he turned to look at them however, his bright red eye cast a chill down Harry's spine.
"You're late Yaxley," he said coolly. Harry could hear the anger of being kept waiting radiating from his voice.
"I'm sorry, my Lord," Yaxley said with a bow. "The boy took his time getting to the pub."
Harry couldn't repress the eye roll that drew his gaze to the rafters above. He thought about arguing but knew that his words would fall on deaf ears. Instead he remained quiet, his eyes returning to Voldemort only when he addressed him.
"Potter, it is customary to kneel when in my presence," he said in an informative tone, but there was no mistaking the order.
"That's nice," Harry's replied nonchalantly. "Perhaps you should tell Yaxley. It seems he has forgotten."
A hand gripped the scruff of his neck forcing him to crane backwards, and a sharp blow to the back of his shins sent him forwards, knees colliding painfully with the unforgiving wooden floor. He was forced to stare up into those gleaming eyes, as Voldemort paced forwards, stopping a few feet away from where Harry now kneeled. Embarrassment flushed to Harry's cheeks, as he glowered back.
"I see your time away has revived your defiance " Voldemort said, though he didn't smile as he normally would. Instead, he stared down at the boy with aggravation lining his pale face.
Fear turned in Harry's stomach. Voldemort had always enjoyed their meetings, using it as time to disparage him, however he now seemed genuinely angry.
The Dark Lord clasped his hands behind his back, and Harry recognized the look on his face immediately. It was one he received every time Snape looked in his direction. Pure loathing.
"Potter, my patience has wore thin. How long have you been back at the castle? How many times have you set eyes on that sword?"
Harry bit back a sarcastic response, choosing instead to hold his tongue. Apparently no answer was just as bad as a cheeky one.
"Answer me, Potter," he snarled. Brandishing his wand, he whispered "crucio!"
Fire spread through Harry, melting his bones as he fought back a scream. It only lasted a second but he was already panting heavily.
"I can't...get…it," he hissed through labored gasps. "Dum…ble..dore…"
"Don't give me excuses, boy," Voldemort spat. "I thought since you seem to have forgotten your objective, another lesson in obedience was needed. I have a Death Eater that has been begging to have little time with you."
Harry felt his stomach plummet into an icy stream. He imagined his last encounter with Lucius Malfoy; his long finger sliding up his trembling leg. Voldemort smiled his first cruel smile of the day and small chuckle rumbled through his chest.
"Not Malfoy, though it seems like I've spotted your greatest fear. No, there is another that has been keen to have you at their mercy. They should be here any moment. They had to collect your werewolf friend this morning."
Sickness pooled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't realized that Lupin would also be joing them. Voldemort turned and strolled back to the window, returning his gaze back across the lawns.
"I'll get the sword," Harry choked out without thinking. He would have agreed to anything to keep things from escalating further.
Voldemort didn't turn to look at him but answered, his eyes still fixed out the window. "After today, I'm sure you will." It was short, simple, but bone chillingly terrifying.
Harry opened his mothy to beg, to plead for mercy, not for himself, but for Remus. However, the sound of the drawing room door opening cut him short.
From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Remus being shoved into a chair just to his right, a look of defiance clear on his face. He caught his eye, and the older wizard gave him a short shake of his head. He had a nasty gash across his left eyebrow that was slowly leaking blood into his eye. He reached up to wipe it with his sleeve but ropes appeared binding his wrists to the arm rests. He rolled his eyes up to his captor with a scathing look.
"Ah, Bellatrix. I am…"
Harry didn't hear the rest. His heart was now hammering violently against his ribcage, fighting to free itself from the body that was about to endure an obscene amount of pain. Bellatrix was ruthless enough but after their meeting in the Ministry, Harry knew she had a reason to go beyond that with him. He shook his head, a scared smile creeping to his lips.
"Something funny, Potter," she cooed, apparently having already been told her reward. She stalked forward, squatting to look directly in his eyes.
From his peripheral vision, he could see Yaxley standing next to Lupin's chair, his hand resting upon it's tall back. Behind her, Voldemort stood watching, his face stoic. Harry shrugged his shoulders, his eyes coming back to hers. "I guess not," he said, sounding relatively calm given his current predicament.
She smiled at him, bringing her thin hand up to sweep the wet black locks from his forehead. Harry, forgetting his place, swiped her hand away. She caught his wrist, twisting it around until a look of pain crossed his face. "Oh little Potter. How I've dreamed of this moment," she whispered twisting his wrist further.
Letting out a grunt, Harry reached up with his free hand determined to pry her cold fingers from his skin. Suddenly, she dropped his wrist and gave her wand a flick. A wooden chair appeared behind him , and with the help of Yaxley, he was hoisted into it, hands tied tightly to the thin spindals behind his back.
Slowly, she stood up, tracing her hand up Harry's body until she reached his neck. She was a head taller than him, and Harry found himself staring up into her cold black eyes. She squeezed his neck, a look of mania crossing her face.
"Bellatrix, I hate to tell you that the boy must return to Hogwarts tonight. Cuts and broken bones can be minded but bruises are more difficult to explain," Voldemort told her casually as if he were giving her simple instructions on how to conduct a spell.
"I understand, my Lord," he said releasing his neck. Instead, she stalked behind him, a finger running along his shoulder. Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to remember she couldn't kill him. That did little to comfort him when he was unsure of what her plan of torture would be.
She came to stop behind him, her body close to his. He felt her lips press softly to the base of his neck, her warm breath sending goose flesh across his skin. "I use to do this to your dear Godfather," she whispered into his flesh. Her lips moved slowly up his neck until she reached his ear. "I'd visit his house with my parents and I'd talk him into letting me tie him to a chair in the attic. He was just a kid after all, and he was always so easy to manipulate." Her tongue darted out, licking the shell of his ear.
Harry tightened his eyes, cringing away from her touch. His breathing had quickened in an attempt to remain calm, but his heart wouldn't listen to his desperate pleas. She pushed her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest. All the while breathing heavily in his ear
"Sirius would pretend to hate it but…"
"STOP IT!"
Harry's eyes snapped open. At first he thought he'd spoken without realizing, but turning his head he saw Remus pulling deranged like at his bindings. A wolf like expression was spreading across his face.
Bellatrix smirked in his direction, her attention shifting from Harry to him for a fraction of a second. "Oh I forgot. My dear cousin made several undesirable friends during his time at Hogwarts."
Walking back to stand in front of Harry, she swung a leg over his and sat down gracefully on his lap. Harry gritted his teeth, but kept eye contact with her, not daring to show his embarrassment. She bared her yellow teeth at him, apparently aware of how hard he was fighting. He felt the tip of her wand jab between his ribs, and leaning forward she whispered in his ear. "Crucio."
For the second time that day, Harry felt the white hot pain spreading through his body. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to thrash from side to side, but he found her weight pushing him into the chair. She laughed softly in his ear, as he ground his teeth together, unwilling to give her the pleasure of hearing him scream.
"Scream for me, Harry," she cooed but Harry shook his head violently.
Heaving a sigh, she broke the curse. Harry slumped in his chair, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Her long fingers took his chin and raised his watery green eyes to hers. "He use to beg me to stop," she said, her eyes darting to Remus and then back to Harry.
Harry's face paled. He could imagine a young Sirius being terrorized by his older cousin, hiding in his room when she came round. He'd told Harry how much he'd hated living in that house, and now Harry understood why. It made living at the Dursley's seem like a vacation.
"Do you want me to show you what I'd do to him, Harry," she asked silkily. She shifted her weight forward on him, leaning closer to press her wet lips to his temple. Her free hand moved from his chin to rest against his belt buckle.
Harry felt a tightening his his stomach, as he pulled away from her, eyes clinched. He didn't want to imagine her touching Sirius like this. He didn't want her touching him like this. He would have given anything for it be over.
"Alright, Bellatrix. You have had your fun," Voldemort interrupted, stepping forward from the window.
A look of disappointment crossed the witch's face, but nonetheless she obeyed. Sliding from his lap, Bellatrix bowed to her master and withdrew to the other side of the drawing room.
Voldemort advanced on Harry whose eyes were still clenched tight. The boy was taking short, shallow breaths, apparently trying to calm his mind. Usually, this would have been enough to satisfy the Dark Lord's anger, but not tonight. Tonight he needed to be the one punishing the boy.
Without a word, the ropes holding the boy to the chair sprang upwards, suspending him from the rafters. His emerald green eyes opening wide, caught off guard by the sudden change in assault. Fear blazed through them, and Voldemort felt a twinge of pleasure course through him.
"I had not planned on hurting you myself tonight, Harry, but I'll admit myself unsatisfied." He looked down at the boy who's lip had began to quiver in protest. "I think we will reverse the punishments this time, shall we? The hot poker for you, and the whip for your friend."
"No! He hasn't done anything," Harry protested, struggling against the rope. But Voldemort was already standing at the open fireplace, his hand turning the handle of a long iron poker.
With a flick of his wand, Harry's jacket and shirt disappeared, leaving his torso exposed. Voldemort withdrew the iron and brought it over to him, the heat radiating from it's surface. Before Harry had time to protest, he was pressing it firmly against his pale stomach.
He couldn't hold back the scream that tore through his throat. He thrashed backwards only to find Voldemort's hand holding him in place. The familiar sickening smile spread across the wizard's lips as he held the iron against the bubbling flesh. The air was thick with the smell of burning skin, Harry's incoherent cries, and Remus's pleas to stop. However, Voldemort didn't seem to be listening.
He returned to the fire, letting the iron warm again. He watched Harry, who was now fighting to remain conscious, with a look of pure enjoyment. When the poker was red hot again, he advanced on the boy once more.
"I want you to remember what this feels like, Potter. Remember the smell of your flesh burning when you start to think of ways of voiding our agreement."
"Please…. don't," Harry begged through gasps of putrid air.
Voldemort smiled maliciously. "There's a good lad. Let me hear you beg me to stop. Plead for forgiveness."
Harry shook his head against his better judgement, suddenly aware that the words had slipped out. He would not beg. He would not ask for forgiveness for something he was not sorry for.
The iron connected with his back this time, causing his hips to buck forward. He yelled until no sounds escaped his open mouth. He pulled at the ropes binding his wrists until blood began to streak down his arms in crimson cascades. The world around him became fuzzy around the edges as the lack of oxygen began to suffocate him.
Voldemort pulled the iron away, throwing it back into the red coals. Snapping his long fingers, the ropes vanished, leaving Harry to crumple to the wood floor where he lay panting helplessly. He turned his head to the side retching his morning breakfast across the immaculate floor.
By the time Harry had regained some sort of hold on his bearings, he could see Remus hanging, shirtless, in the same position he had been moments ago. His cheeks were flushed with anger as he scowled down at Voldemort. Harry could not bring himself to look at him.
"You've made your point," he spat. Every word caused his burns to sear agonizingly. "I'll get you the sword before the week is out."
"Oh I have no doubt in that, Harry. This isn't about the sword." He brought the whip slashing down upon Lupin's back. The man gritted his teeth, but no sound escaped. Another stroke, and he was clenching his eyes. A third and tears were rolling down his red cheeks.
"Then what do you want," Harry yelled, climbing slowly, painfully to his feet.
"I want you to understand the consequences of your actions," Voldemort seethed. The whip tore down Remus's back again, this time a trail of blood followed in it wake. Lupin let a moan slip from his tightened lips.
Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "I've done everything you've asked of me."
Voldemort turned to look at him, his red eyes narrowing. "And yet you have nothing to show for it."
"I can't magically make the sword appear," Harry said splaying his hands helplessly.
A crack resonated around the room, followed by a growling scream. Lupin's head lolled backwards as he fought for breath. Another crack and he was begging for it to stop.
"What do you want me to say," he pleaded. "I…I'm sorry?" He frased it as question, still unwilling to bend.
Voldemort walked towards him, his lips pressed tight in annoyance. "You are what?"
Snarling his nose Harry repeated himself. "I'm sorry."
"Try again, Harry. This time add some manners," Voldemort hissed.
Harry closed his eyes but complied nonetheless. " I'm…"
"Let me stop you there and give you a small hint. My Death Esters address me from their knees."
Harry sucked his teeth, and forced a smile. "I'm not one of your Death Eaters."
Smirking, Voldemort turned and brandished the whip again. The sharp snap of leather meeting skin forced Harry to his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he rambled but at the sight of the whip recoiling for another blow he quickly added "sir."
Voldemort turned and smiled down at the boy kneeling at his feet. Reaching down, he ran his long fingers through those black strands, savoring the sight of him, before saying, "That's better. Now get me my sword."