Here's the next part, sorry it's so short. I just want to say that, in case anyone missinterperates this chapter, I don't have any problem at all with homosexuality (actually I'm bi). The reason the stuff that goes on is being described so negatively is because it's rape not because it involves people of the same sex. That should be obvious but I thought I'd just make it clear.
Day 9.
Snape Family Mansion:
Serverus sat with his back to the wall, not caring about the pool of stickey half-dry blood that surrounded him. Disinterestedly he pulled a chunk of glass from his shoulder. He held it in his hand. Without realy thinking he made a fist, a tight fist. Fresh blood dripped to the floor. Red-brown stains were all over his room; the walls, the floor, even some small ones on the ceiling.
He watched the dark liquid falling to the ground, seeping through his fingers from his slit palm.
Number 12 Grimaland Place:
It was dark. And cold. And damp. And Sirus was crying. Tears leaked from between swollen lids. He couldn't stop. His whole body was shaking.
'Hurts.'
He didn't mean his injuries.
'I don't want to be here.'
The tears were leaving tracks in the dry blood that covered his face.
'It hurts too much.'
The deatheaters came back latter that day. They stood just inside the cell for several moments. The silence was unbroken but for a whisper and a nervous laugh. Then, without warning, one of them spoke a single word; "crucio".
The pain in his body increased a hundred fold. But it was nothing to the pain of his mind.
"Flagulate."
A sudden burning slashing pain cut across his chest and shoulder, then again across his legs. It was like his skin was on fire. The feeling did not die down.
He gasped as someone yanked him up by the hair then practically threw him across the room.
The side of his face was throbbing where it had connected with the stone. Hands grabbed him and pulled him up. He felt a pressure on his chest and then a dart of pain as sharp teeth bit at his right nipple. Then a wetness as a tongue snaked vulgarly along his skin. He tried to back away. But there was nowhere to go and the grip that held him was tight. The mockeries of kisses, the perversion of a sacred act, continued. Gloved fingers grabbed at his penis, roughly trying to force an errection. He was crying again. So much pain! Physical abuse he was used to. But this was different. Worse. Every touch made him feel dirty and sick. Mercilessly the hands moved over his body, pressing down cruelly on his injuries. Then he was flipped over onto his stomach and the pain increased.
And for the first time in his life Sirus honestly and truely wished he were dead.