Day 15: Bad Guys Made Them Do It
**Trigger Warning: NonCon/DubCon**
The cold, damp air of the dungeon seemed to suffocate Harry as he stood shackled in the center of the stone room, his wrists bound high above his head with heavy iron chains. His body ached, every muscle screaming from the tension and strain. The weight of fear hung heavy on him, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make sense of where he was—and why he was there. The last thing he remembered was being captured during a skirmish with the Death Eaters. Now he was in Voldemort's lair, and the future seemed bleak.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. Harry's eyes snapped up, his breath hitching as he saw who entered the room.
Severus Snape.
For a brief moment, Harry's heart lifted, hope sparking that maybe Snape was here to help him, to free him, to be the Order's inside man. But as soon as Snape's cold, emotionless gaze fell on him, that hope crumbled. Harry had always been told to trust Snape, that he was on their side, but seeing him now, dressed in black robes, his face as impassive as ever, Harry's heart sank. He was truly alone.
Following Snape into the room were two Death Eaters, their faces masked and their postures gleeful as they watched the scene unfold.
"The Dark Lord has given me orders," Snape said, his voice cold and detached as he stepped closer to Harry. "And I must carry them out."
Harry swallowed hard, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. He tugged futilely at his chains, but there was no escaping them. "Snape," Harry rasped, his voice trembling. "You… you don't have to do this. You don't have to follow him."
Snape's expression didn't change, but there was a brief flicker in his eyes that Harry barely caught—a flicker of something that was quickly hidden behind the cold mask Snape always wore. But before Harry could think more about it, Snape's hand shot out, grabbing Harry by the jaw and forcing him to look up.
"I must do what is required of me," Snape said, his voice a low growl. "And you will do well to remember that."
One of the Death Eaters chuckled darkly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Well, Snape, don't keep us waiting. The Dark Lord wants to be sure you're loyal, and nothing says loyalty like breaking the Boy Who Lived in front of us."
Harry's stomach twisted with dread as the meaning of their words sank in. His eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized what they were asking Snape to do. He struggled against the chains, panic rising in his throat as he tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped.
Snape's grip on Harry's jaw tightened, his dark eyes boring into Harry's. "Do not fight me, Potter," Snape whispered, his voice so low that only Harry could hear. "This must be done. For your sake, as well as mine."
Harry's mind raced, trying to make sense of Snape's words, but before he could respond, Snape released his grip on Harry's face and turned away briefly. His expression was unreadable, his body tense, as though he were bracing himself for what was to come.
Snape moved back toward Harry, his hands moving swiftly to undo Harry's trousers. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, panic flooding his senses as he felt Snape tugging his clothes down, exposing him in front of the Death Eaters. The cold air brushed over his bare skin, making him shiver, but it was the humiliation, the sheer vulnerability of the moment, that made his body tremble.
"Please," Harry whispered, his voice broken as he struggled against the chains. "Please, you don't have to do this."
Snape didn't respond. His movements were mechanical, his face a mask of cold indifference, but Harry saw something in his eyes—something that gave him pause. Snape's hand moved to his own trousers, undoing them quickly, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Harry caught it.
One of the Death Eaters laughed, clearly enjoying Harry's panic. "Make sure it hurts, Snape," he sneered. "Show him how we deal with traitors."
Harry's heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Snape positioned himself behind him. He could feel the heat of Snape's body, could feel the tension in the air, and it made his skin crawl. But just as the panic threatened to overwhelm him, Harry felt something unexpected—Snape's hand, slick with spit, pressing between his cheeks.
Harry flinched, his body tensing as Snape's fingers brushed over him, the wetness easing the way slightly. It wasn't enough to fully relieve the discomfort, but it was something. Snape was trying to make this less painful—trying, in his own way, to protect Harry from the worst of what was happening.
Snape leaned down, his breath hot against Harry's ear as he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Before Harry could process the words, Snape pushed inside him. The sudden intrusion made Harry gasp, his body jerking against the chains as the pain shot through him. It wasn't unbearable, but it was enough to make him grit his teeth, his fingers digging into the shackles as he tried to steady himself.
Snape didn't move right away. He stayed still for a moment, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he adjusted to the situation. Harry could feel the tension radiating off him, could feel how tightly Snape was holding himself in check.
Then, slowly, Snape began to move.
Harry's body trembled as Snape's cock slid in and out of him, each thrust slow and deliberate. It was clear that Snape was trying to be as careful as possible, but the situation was still humiliating, painful in more ways than one. Harry bit down on his lip, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to escape his throat. He hated this—hated how vulnerable he felt, how powerless he was to stop it.
The Death Eaters were laughing again, their voices echoing in the room as they watched the scene unfold. "Come on, Snape," one of them jeered. "Make him scream for mercy. You know you want to."
Snape's grip on Harry's hips tightened, his fingers digging into Harry's skin as he continued to thrust into him. The rhythm was steady, calculated, as though Snape were trying to finish this as quickly as possible. But there was no escaping the situation—no escaping the humiliation of it all.
Harry's mind raced, his thoughts a blur of panic and confusion. Was Snape truly loyal to Voldemort? Was this all just a show of obedience, or was there something more? He didn't know what to believe anymore. He didn't know if he could trust Snape.
But then, in the midst of the pain and the humiliation, Harry felt something else. Something unexpected. Snape's hand, still slick with spit, slid around to the front of Harry's body, wrapping around his cock. The touch was gentle, almost soothing, and it made Harry gasp in surprise.
Snape didn't say anything. He didn't look at Harry. But the way his hand moved over Harry's cock, the way his touch softened, told Harry everything he needed to know. This wasn't about hurting him. This wasn't about proving loyalty to Voldemort. This was about protecting him, about doing whatever it took to survive this moment.
Harry's body responded instinctively to the touch, his cock hardening despite the situation. The pain was still there, the humiliation still burning in his chest, but the sensation of Snape's hand stroking him, the warmth of his body against Harry's, made it easier to bear. It was a strange, disorienting mix of emotions—shame, fear, confusion—but beneath it all was a thread of undeniable arousal that made Harry's head spin.
Snape's hand moved with steady, deliberate strokes, his grip firm but careful, as though he were trying to balance the brutality of what was happening with something resembling comfort. It was twisted, almost surreal, to feel this level of care amid such darkness, and Harry didn't know what to make of it. His heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps, but he couldn't stop the way his body reacted to the touch, the way his hips involuntarily moved into Snape's hand.
"Don't… fight it," Snape murmured, so quietly that only Harry could hear him. His voice was low, rough, and strained. "Just let this end."
Harry's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He wanted to scream at Snape, to tell him to stop, to tell him he hated him for doing this. But he also couldn't deny the relief that came with Snape's touch—the small mercy of being handled with some level of care, of not being left to suffer under the cruel gazes of the watching Death Eaters.
The heat in the room seemed to grow heavier as Snape's hand worked him, the friction building a slow burn of arousal deep in Harry's belly. Harry's breath hitched, his body trembling as the pleasure built despite the circumstances. He wanted to deny it, wanted to reject the growing sensation that threatened to overtake him, but it was impossible. His body betrayed him.
Snape's cock was still buried deep inside Harry, moving in slow, measured thrusts that barely caused friction but reminded Harry of his submission. His hand, though, was focused, stroking Harry's cock with a practiced precision that made Harry feel sick and confused. How could Snape, the man who had tormented him for years, be the one giving him this twisted pleasure now?
"You will… finish," Snape growled under his breath, his voice filled with tension, as though it was taking every ounce of control he had to maintain the facade of indifference. "Make them believe. Make them think I've broken you."
The words sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he realized that this wasn't just for the Death Eaters—it was for their survival. As much as Harry hated it, as much as the situation humiliated and pained him, this was their way out. Snape wasn't just doing this to harm him—he was trying to save him, even if it meant breaking him in front of Voldemort's most loyal followers.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip to hold back a groan as Snape's hand stroked him faster. His cock twitched in Snape's grip, the pleasure mounting to an unbearable degree. His hips moved of their own accord, thrusting into Snape's hand with a desperation he hated himself for. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, the familiar tension coiling tight inside him, and he knew he was close.
Snape's movements quickened, his fingers tightening around Harry's cock as he pushed him closer and closer to the edge. Harry's entire body tensed, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure built to an overwhelming crescendo. The pain of the situation, the humiliation of being taken in front of Death Eaters, blurred into the background as the pleasure took over.
With a choked gasp, Harry's body convulsed, his orgasm ripping through him with brutal force. He came hard, his release spilling over Snape's hand, his entire body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over him. The chains rattled as he slumped forward, his legs shaking, his mind hazy with the intensity of it all.
Snape didn't stop stroking him until every last drop had been coaxed from him, his hand steady even as Harry's body trembled with exhaustion. When it was over, Snape slowly pulled out of him, the sudden emptiness leaving Harry feeling raw and exposed.
The Death Eaters were laughing again, their voices cruel and mocking as they watched Harry collapse against his restraints, utterly spent. "Well done, Snape," one of them sneered, clapping mockingly. "Looks like the Boy Who Lived isn't quite as untouchable as he thought."
Snape didn't respond. His face remained impassive as he straightened his robes, his gaze never meeting Harry's. For a moment, there was silence—an unbearable, suffocating silence—before the Death Eaters finally moved to unlock the chains that bound Harry to the wall.
Harry's arms fell limp at his sides, his body too weak and exhausted to hold himself up. He collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as he tried to regain his composure. Every part of him ached, his mind still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened. He felt hollow, broken, unsure of what to believe anymore.
The Death Eaters turned and left the room, their cruel laughter echoing in the hallway as they disappeared from sight. Harry didn't move. He couldn't move. All he could do was lie there, shaking, trying to process the pain, the pleasure, the confusion.
Snape was still there, standing over him, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Harry didn't know what to say, didn't know how to feel. He had always been told to trust Snape, to believe in his loyalty to the Order, but after what had just happened, he didn't know if he could.
Snape knelt down beside him, his hands moving carefully to help Harry sit up. His touch was gentle, almost careful, as though he were afraid of causing more damage. "It's over," Snape said quietly, his voice lacking its usual harshness. "You're safe now."
Safe. The word felt foreign on Harry's tongue, hollow and meaningless after what they had just endured. How could he ever feel safe again after this?
"I did what I had to do," Snape continued, his voice still low. "If I hadn't… they would have done far worse. You must understand that."
Harry looked up at Snape, his green eyes filled with a mix of anger, confusion, and something close to betrayal. "You… you didn't have to do it like that," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse. "You didn't have to…"
Snape's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw a flicker of guilt in his dark eyes. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same cold indifference that Harry had always known from Snape.
"There was no other way," Snape said quietly, his tone flat. "I protected you in the only way I could."
Harry shook his head, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn't know what to think, didn't know how to reconcile the man who had just taken him with the idea that Snape might still be on their side.
"I hate you," Harry whispered, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them.
