The Prologue - Part II
Horror consumed the eyes of Hogwarts' golden graduate as he stared through the flames at the last person he would expect to be a Death Eater.
The blazing firestorm parted as the nineteen year old wizard walked toward the supine, mangled figure of Harry Potter. He came to a halt as a small circular clearing some five meters in diameter manifested around the two.
Neither spoke.
The upright golden-brown haired wizard produced a wand from the inside of his light-materialed gold-and-charcoal robes. Hand shaking, he pointed the ash-wooden wand at the Death Eater and made some jerky gestures. After a few repeats of the wand motion, a serpentine pattern of golden-red light slithered over Harry's form.
Using this specific method members of the Order of the Phoenix devised to recognize one another, Harry's identity had been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt — as well as a prolific use of dark magic.
A pained gasp leapt from Cedric as his tall figure went rigid with shock and his wand clattered onto this floor.
Watching the tormented contortions of Cedric's face agonized Harry as much as murdering any of the comrades he had just slaughtered — perhaps even as much as killing Cormac. Cedric had been like an older brother to him at Hogwarts, with their relationship forming at the time Harry had planned to leave for Durmstrang the moment Sirius Black was captured. Cedric had been an invaluable friend during the Triwizard Tournament — once he got over Harry's purposeful-yet-preordained entry. And Cedric kept him sane during his final two years at Hogwarts as the only other Phoenix of their generation.
Unless Ron and Hermione… but Harry aborted that thought the instant it came. It was beyond imperative he did not think of those two.
Silence still hung between him and Cedric as the insatiable inferno reached every corner of the house and reduced anything less than the magically-reinforced stone framework to ash. With how strong the Fiendfyre had grown, Harry numbly realized Cedric was projecting a shield around both of them for him not to feel the infernal temperature — likely subconsciously, given his wand still lay on the ground between them.
With minutes passing with no words spoken, Harry made to break the silence — but suddenly felt as if magma was being poured down his throat when he attempted to speak. He shut up immediately.
"Why?" the question finally came.
Harry tried to speak again, but found the sensation of magma burn even stronger. After a minute or so, he figured he'd simply have to endure the pain induced by Cedric's rage to answer. Or give an answer.
"My power," Harry started before breaking off for a blood-expelling cough, "is linked…to the Dark Lord's."
The magical power pressing onto him demonstrated what Cedric thought of his answer. But Harry figured it best to explain more.
"Our power…" Harry continued.
"Our," Cedric half-snarled in fury, half-gasped in disbelief.
"Our power," Harry repeated, "feeds into…and magnifies the other. The Dark Lord…regained his strength as my magic…grew at Hogwarts. Then his power…empowered me."
"The Dark Lord who tried to kill you as a baby?" Cedric drawled with disgust.
"Things…change," Harry wheezed.
"And now you're his loyal servant?" Cedric ground out — but Harry detected a strand of desperate hope in his voice. That somehow there was a way for Harry to explain his base treachery.
"I…will never…vanquish the Dark Lord," Harry choked out.
"You'd just rather he leeches off your power, if I'm to believe you," Cedric spat out.
That's what I said at first, Harry remembered when Lord Voldemort described the nature of their relationship.
"My…destiny," Harry whispered.
"Don't you dare talk about destiny, Potter," Cedric shouted as his face expressed a red glow. "You…"
Cedric's wand snapped into his hand as he pointed it at Harry's still form.
"You're going to rot for the rest of your life, Potter," Cedric promised with an icy voice.
"No prison…can hold me," Harry warned.
A realization dawned on Cedric, to which he gave a bitter laugh.
"You led the Azkaban breakout, didn't you?" Cedric asked rhetorically. "That's how you repaid the people who died for you at the Ministry? You and your stupid prophecy?"
"Avenge them," Harry challenged.
"I'll pass on listening to the slithering psycho," Cedric sneered.
"I'm…his most valued," Harry threatened. "You kill me…or you leave me."
Cedric answered with a flick of his wand, at which steel chains wrapped themselves around Harry. One especially thick one bound his mouth like a muzzle.
"No H—Potter," Cedric rejected as he clutched Harry's aspen wand in his left hand. "If you're what you say, you're more useful alive than dead."
Harry could see the familiar determined glint in Cedric's eyes. Cedric had made up his mind, and only the most severe circumstances would change it.
But Harry could say no more. If Cedric was determined to keep him alive even after the most brutal betrayal one could imagine, Harry would survive to fight another day for Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, the greatest legilimens alive.
Lord Voldemort…whose presence was reaching toward his mind right now!
My lord, Harry answered the telepathic call.
You are damaged, Lord Voldemort intoned.
My mission is complete, my lord, Harry reported.
The Diggory boy lives, the Dark Lord noted.
I promised not to harm him to receive access to this place, Harry answered.
Bellatrix will correct this, the Dark Lord informed before his mental presence receded.
But not retreated.
Harry motionlessly watched as Cedric levitated his bound form and led them through the storm of Fiendfyre down the stairway to the first floor.
He intends to apparate me, Harry realized.
But Cedric likely didn't realize how quickly another Death Eater could arrive — also by apparition. All it would take was…
Harry and Cedric simultaneously felt the secret of the Fidelius Charm blossom within their chests. They had just become the new secret keepers of the burning house.
A secret Harry shared with his lord. Just as Pettigrew had done to the Potters all those years ago.
"Bastards," Cedric snarled, physically hurling the chained Harry through the front door face first into the grass. Or, rather, blackened unearthed soil littered with specks and splinters of glass.
The billowing hurricane of Fiendfyre roared outward into the night, passing even the gates surrounding the house. As before, the only refuge from the flames was the one Cedric formed, which yet again included Harry. Even though Harry knew this to be Cedric's nature, he couldn't help but marvel at it. If the situations were reversed, Harry would have found it near impossible to sustain a shield around someone who betrayed him so thoroughly.
Then again, Harry's magic naturally manifested in aggressive outbursts of power. He had always relied more on his wand for refining his abilities than a number of his generation's prodigies, despite being hailed as the greatest magical talent since Lord Voldemort himself.
But raw power often had its uses — such as for obliterating the steel chains binding him.
Before Cedric could react, Harry called his wand back into his right palm. Focusing on the power conduit within the wand, a feather from Dumbledore's personal phoenix, Harry flooded his power into the wand to convert it into healing energies. Or at the very least, energy that could prop his body upright while providing enough anesthesia for his mind to operate in one final, brief bout of combat.
I'm not my mother when it comes to healing, Harry mulled as he half-pushed, half-levitated his body to stand— jerking like an automated mannequin all the way.
"You're in no condition to duel," Cedric intoned with a glacial voice.
It was true. Harry was looping most of his power through his wand merely to animate his near-corpse like a puppeteer. But he didn't need — didn't want — to duel.
Want. The key word that would define these next few seconds.
Cedric wanted to apparate away with Harry as his prisoner.
Harry did not want to be taken prisoner.
Lord Voldemort wanted Cedric dead.
Bellatrix wanted to fulfill this.
Icy shards of power ran through Harry's left forearm as Lord Voldemort magnified the connection Harry and Bellatrix shared through their dark marks.
Cedric marched toward Harry, expanding their clearing with each step as the flames retreated from Cedric's steely anger.
The Dark Lord's anticipation pulsed as Bellatrix honed in on the target of her apparition.
Cedric near-imperceptibly tensed his left hand as his quick march came within three meters of Harry, thoroughly unperturbed by the ready position of Harry's wand.
Bellatrix locked in on Harry's location and stretched her magic to bridge the space between them.
Cedric's left foot came down a meter away from Harry. He would make his grab for Harry when he brought his right foot down.
Time to see how well I know him.
Veins in Cedric's left hand rippled again near-imperceptibly as the golden-haired wizard subtly funneled power through the arm down to the digits. Simultaneously, Harry's mastery of legilimency and acute attunement to the flow of magic alerted him to the directional tensing of Cedric's foot.
Wide step to his right with a left arm grab around my torso.
So, a fraction of a second before Cedric moved his arm, Harry slid his right foot diagonally toward Cedric's left and then with all his speed and strength pivoted on his right toes into the path of Cedric's arm.
Bingo.
No arm grabbed him. The only sensation Harry felt was the brush of a thumbnail against the upper left corner of his throat — where Cedric had just tried to grab him with his outstretched right hand.
Cedric used a precious fraction of a second to curl the pointer of his open hand to secure his wand, which he had been expecting to press against Harry's throat. This allowed Harry to finish pumping his left hand upward to latch onto Cedric's exposed elbow from underneath, thumb locking onto the inside of Cedric's joint.
This physical connection allowed Harry to fully sense the apparition tendrils Cedric had cast — and planned to follow once he grabbed Harry. Cedric himself reinforced the lock on his destination as he raised his free left arm from its slack position to grab Harry's left forearm.
But Harry expected exactly this, and it gave him the opening he was looking for to jab his wand against the underside of Cedric's now exposed armpit. Now, having connected his wand to Cedric's body and being fully intune with the older wizard's apparition energies...
The last expression Harry saw on Cedric's face was surprise and bewilderment as a massive yet meticulous surge of power propelled the golden-robed wizard into an elongated, ethereal version of himself. Cedric's intermediary form zig-zagged in a sphere-like pattern before folding space to his apparent destination.
Exhaustion from this exertion rocked Harry's entire being as the magical threads pupputering his body vanished. But Harry let himself fall backward, knowing that all physical danger of the night had passed.
The last thing Harry felt before blacking out was a pair of soft breasts catching the back of his head as arms secured his chest.
"Ugh," Harry moaned as he woke up to pain.
A pain he instantly knew the cause of, but had never suffered while in the care of Madam Pomphrey at Hogwarts.
"Would it have killed you to give me painkillers?" Harry grumbled as he was treated to every last sensation of his bones and muscles mending themselves.
"You should be grateful I put you on a bed," Bellatrix retorted from somewhere beyond the foot of his bed.
Harry opened his eyes to survey the insides of a spacious room in…
12 Grimmauld Place, Harry realized to his utter relief.
While Bellatrix had no place in Sirius' room, she could have just as easily brought him to Malfoy manor instead — where her sister and disgraced brother-in-law currently hosted Lord Voldemort. Who may not be pleased with his youngest Death Eater at the moment.
"I am in your debt," Harry acknowledged as he instinctively sank deeper into Sirius' bed.
He took in the glistening silk blanket, fully adorned with diamond-shaped obsidian, diamond, sapphire, jade and ruby stones — cut thin and flat enough not to disrupt the skin while shining an ethereal kaleidoscope pattern when reflecting light. The ever-rippling wine-red comforter of Egyptian cotton, which perfectly adjusted to its user's temperature, positional and comfort preferences. And the star-spangled, cloud-like pillows he rested upon, which displayed a precise starmap from their position on Earth — a miniaturized version of the room and floor-coverings.
Harry also noticed he was stark naked.
Less scarring than I expected, Harry noted as he surveyed his somewhat hairy body.
"You cost me playtime with Amos," Bellatrix griped in a seemingly pouty voice as she paced across the other side of the room — seemingly gliding given how her dress and cloak appeared to float like a dark fog at her feet.
Harry's heartbeat quickened at her innocuous tone — the breeze before a brutal blizzard.
"He gave us all we needed," Harry replied in an even tone, holding his ground even if he was neither in shape nor position to contend with the world's most dangerous witch.
"Convenient that sparing Cedric was the deciding condition," Bellatrix singsonged while rolling her head, her jet-black waves billowing majestically before coming back down into their typical breast-length pattern about her shoulders and behind her head.
"Convenient that I managed to get the secret out of him," Harry pointed out. He felt a minuscule smirk emerge on the left corner of his lip as a pulse of fury emanated from Bellatrix's being.
"And then get slashed to ribbons by half-trained whelps," Bellatrix replied in a casual tone as she picked her fingernails with her curved walnut wand.
"I'm flattered my appearance concerns you," Harry rejoined.
"I find your performance…wanting," Bellatrix snapped out the last word as her voice shifted from cavalier to a tone colder than her alabaster face.
"Last I checked, I completed the mission," Harry countered, his voice coming out a little hotter than intended. Questions of his capability never failed to rankle him after all these years.
"Your infirmity of spirit betrays you and the Dark Lord," Bellatrix accused as she slowly stalked from the far side of the room toward his bed.
"I just murdered eight of my friends!" Harry shouted in rage. He attempted to prop himself up, but his arms spasmed and faltered — falling back to his sides.
"Friends," Bellatrix sneered with as much contempt as she had for muggles. "What weakness the half-blood ponce infected the once-great house of Slytherin with."
"Snape and I were never close," Harry reminded.
"As it should have been!" Bellatrix thundered. "From the moment the Dark Lord chose you, you should have been sharpened into a sword of steel. You should have been forged by your rivals, and tempered only by conquest."
"Instead, Snivellus' muggle-inherited sickness fed into your own, and together your feeble cravings crippled the entire house," the witch continued. "Especially my sister's son."
"He's marked, isn't he," Harry pointed out with a slight gesture of his left arm as Bellatrix pressed her hands down on the obsidian footboard and leaned forward.
"To secure your loyalty," Bellatrix scoffed. "The Dark Lord saw little use in him beyond that."
Not for the first time, fear for Draco sent a cold torrent of shivers through Harry's body. A snort from Bellatrix confirmed she noticed this.
"The Dark Lord sees value in you however, and I will forge you into his vision," Bellatrix declared not for the first time.
"What more do you want?" Harry mumbled.
"You," Bellatrix stated with a pearly smile…as her fingers sensually reached toward her plunging V-line and slowly fiddled with the mulberry-silk dress' top clasp — located in between her breasts.
Harry cursed mentally as a warm sensation rocketed up from his lower abdomen through his torso. He kept his face impassive, his breathing even and his body loose, but he could not stop the blood that was trickling into his balls.
Harry fixed on Bellatrix the same dispassionate stare Theo gave anyone who attempted to flirt with him. Harry reminded himself that this was the witch who killed Sirius and gleefully laughed about it — and now dared to defile Sirius' house! Sirius' room!
Curvy, creamy, spotless, soft, plump, Harry's mind unhelpfully supplied as the seductress undid the first clasp — freeing her buxom breasts.
Dopamine electrified his brain as blood flowed downward into his tingling testicles. The expansion of his scrotum burst all pretense of disinterest.
Harry failed to stop his breath from hitching as Bellatrix finished opening the third and final silver clasp of her dress, after which she shrugged the arm straps off of her shoulders and allowed the obsidian dress to fall to the floor like a billowing shadow.
Every inch of the witch's alabaster skin revealed itself as she stepped out of her robes, with not even a millimeter marred by age, birthmark, uneven melanin, nor acne remnants. Only faded battle-scars and an Azkaban prisoner number on the upper left of her neck discolored her skin, and they only served to accentuate her preternatural beauty.
Worse…than a horde of Veelas, Harry thought as he fought a losing battle against Bellatrix's charm.
"You can't," Harry demanded with an authoritative tone of voice, even as his treacherous penis began to swell against his now voluminous ballsack.
"Then stop me," Bellatrix challenged as she performed a horizontal handstand on the footpost — whether by physical strength, levitation or a combination, Harry couldn't tell — and then half-crawled, half-glided toward the supine teenager.
Even in peak shape, I'm still more likely to lose than win a duel against her, Harry thought mournfully as the realization of his coming humiliation set in.
Harry lost control of the pace of his breath as he squirmed away as possible. For despite conjuring every reason he had to hate Bellatrix — and between Sirius, the attack on the Burrow, everyone she'd taken from Neville and her "mentorship" in general — he failed to resist her allure because he found her beautiful.
And not just her hourglass body.
Her power. Her passion. Her majesty. Her malevolence.
As abominable as it was to admit, he instinctively gravitated toward relentless, ruthless witches — those that eschewed emotion for eminence. And who ranked higher among these than Bellatrix Black Lestrange?
Thus, his body involuntarily shivered with delight and anticipation as the witch hovered close enough over his slightly over one-and-three-quarter meter body to feel her warmth over every inch of him.
As Bellatrix's heart shaped face hovered above his, Harry felt his penis leap up and smack her crotch.
"Wanton bastard," Bellatrix rebuked, her midnight-blue eyes as unyielding as her wand.
Harry gave no verbal response, but his penis twitched in spite of the direct insult to his horniness.
"You lust for your godfather's killer?" Bellatrix sneered.
Shame and self-hate flooded every inch of Harry's being as his penis somehow sprang to peak-hardness.
"In his bed?" the merciless witch continued as she pressed her nose against his.
Harry's face twisted in a tearless cry as his penis throbbed.
"In front of him?" Bellatrix whispered as her mouth hovered a milimeter away from Harry's.
No, please no, Harry begged internally as a horrible idea of what Bellatrix was about to do.
Suddenly, a black tapestry fell to the ground across the room as the portrait across the room was uncovered.
"Please," Harry meekly whispered, but it fell on deaf ears as Bellatrix's body suddenly contorted so that she was upright and facing the fireplace on the opposite wall — or rather the portrait above it — while her perfectly pink crotch sat square on Harry's mouth.
Harry had absolutely no way to push her off, no way to silence her, no way to stop…
"Sirius Black!" Bellatrix shouted victoriously.
"…Bellatrix!" the wavy-haired man in the portrait bellowed as his azure-blue eyes blazed with fury. "How dare you defile my house?"
"By right of conquest," Bellatrix answered as she ground her vagina against Harry's mouth, infusing the motion with a magical compulsion for Harry to lick her clitoris.
"Wha—what have you done to my godson?" Sirius' portrait growled glacially as he took in the scene before him.
Bellatrix did not reply, with Harry momentarily finding relief in the pause. This lapse caused him to realize too late that his left arm was levitating. By the time he mustered enough strength to jerk against Bellatrix's hold, the underside of his forearm had been on display for several seconds.
And to Harry's horror, his arm remained aloft. Because try as he may, he could not conjure the power to break Bellatrix's hold.
"H—Harry? Harry? HARRY?" Sirius' portrait shouted desperately.
Harry's heart shattered as the living memory of his godfather — his final way to talk to the only man he called dad — now irrevocably knew him to be a Death Eater. This was as horrible as seeing Sirius fade through the veil.
No…worse, Harry realized as tears gushed down his cheeks — all while his tongue danced and weaved to service the vilest witch on the planet.
Bellatrix's cackles were matched in volume only by Sirius' roars of horror, anger, betrayal and disgust.
As Harry broke under the dual assault, as his mind shut off and found sanctuary in the depths of the lust and passion that now dominated him, Harry felt Lord Voldemort's arctic shards of amusement race through his mind.
This punishment, because that's what it was, hurt worse than any crucio levied upon him by the Dark Lord. So great was the pain that the Dark Lord gleefully drank on it despite the "carnal excesses of the flesh" he doubtlessly saw Harry partaking in.
And so, for the first time of his life, Harry cursed the day Rubeus Hagrid barged into his life and told him that…
