Breaking
Title: Breaking
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1626
Pairing: Harry/Draco, mentions of Voldemort/Harry
Warnings: Non-con, blood, rimming
Summary: Draco never got Potter back, and Voldemort provides him with the best chance.
Note: Here you go strigoia. My attempt at dark fic. Don't say I didn't tell you I couldn't.
There he was. Draco knew he was there -- hell, everyone knew, but it was so different seeing it.
Not to mention he was writhering from a Crucio, his head lolling to the side, face pale and damp. There were tears running down his face.
Draco stared in fascination. He'd never seen Potter so degraded, so hopeless. Even when the Dark Lord has won two months ago and Potter was locked in a magic-proof cage, he had that defiant look on his face.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" Somehow the Dark Lord's voice could be heard over Potter's moans and screams.
"I came to tell you that there is a revolt in Liverpool. A large revolt. People are starting to worry about it."
"Fools," he growled, red eyes flashing but still pinned on the naked, flushed body of Draco's former school nemesis. Potter arched, throwing his head back and let out one long, low moan before collapsing into unconsciousness.
Draco was rather peeved that he'd never been able to do something like that to Potter. Cause him that much pain.
"You could," the Dark Lord said, finally looking over at him.
Draco closed his mind as best he could. It wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to hear just how repulsive he was. Someone, Granger, Draco had heard, had made a potion that would turn the Dark Lord back to his teen body. Of course, if it was Granger, Draco had a feeling she had been forced.
The fact remained, that either the potion took a long time to work correctly or it wasn't working, because the Dark Lord was in some weird stage where he had parts of his past self and parts of his present. He had thick black hair, pasty skin, shapely chest and stomach, no nose, and stick-thin legs. It was repulsive, especially when he was half-dressed, as was the case at the moment.
There had been rumours abound regarding exactly what it was that their leader did with the boy-who-lived, but Draco hadn't believed it. Homosexuality was condemned in the wizarding world, mostly with purebloods because of heir problems. Surely the Dark Lord would uphold that.
But now he wasn't so sure. The Dark Lord was carding his fingers through the sweaty hair on Potter's head, brushing down his bruised neck, and his equally bruised back, over his arse and stopped with his hand wrapped around Potter's left thigh.
Draco was receiving an amused look and he quickly looked away from Potter's body. "Some of your more...unfaithful followers are congregating down at Nott's house and I came to let you know, in case you wanted to do anything about it."
The Dark Lord nodded and Draco had to admit that he had nice hair, almost like Potter's except Potter's was always a mess.
The bed creaked as he stood, clothes floating out of the closet and wrapping around his pale, sickly body. He paused in the doorway, turning to look at Draco, who jumped, afraid to walk too close to him but knowing he wasn't supposed to stay in the room.
"He's a bit of a feisty one," said the Dark Lord, nodding towards Potter's unresponsive body. "Tries to break out every chance he gets."
Draco nodded, letting his confusion show through his mind if the Dark Lord was reading it.
Apparently he was because he nodded approvingly and commanded, "You will watch him until I get back. And remember what I said earlier."
His cloak swirled around his form as he left, the door shutting quietly behind him. Draco sighed in relief and then glared at Potter. He had better things to do than baby-sit. Some of the Death Eaters had planned an attack on Beccles, a town that was still dismissing the Dark Lord's rule. Draco was looking forward to attending it. He heard the Weasleys were there, still eluding capture.
A gasp resounded from the centre of the bed. Potter's body looked artistic against the silky black sheets, his fading tan standing out. The centre of the bruises matched the sheets, sounded by a dark blue fading into his skin.
Draco moved closer, eyes mentally following the trail the Dark Lord's hands had made down his skin. His gazed lingered on Potter's arse, redder closer to his anus. There was no doubt that the rumours were true. Potter had become a slave to the Dark Lord in more than one way.
Quite suddenly, Draco had the strong desire to own Potter, brand him, hurt him. He shook his head. It was silly. Potter was the Dark Lord's.
But he had said he could...
He moved beside Potter, towering over him so his shadow fell over Potter' face, letting him know someone was there.
Potter cracked open his eyes, wincing. "Malfoy?" he croaked.
"Yes." Draco climbed on the bed, staring at the marks covering Potter's body. He could now see all the scratches and bite marks and white lines indicating healing scars.
A wavy smile stretched Potter's lips and they broke, blood seeping out and rolling down his chin. "Are you here to get me out?"
Draco chuckled. "Why would you think that?"
"You couldn't kill Dumbledore that night."
"That was a long time ago," Draco murmured, not liking the reminder. He had paid dearly for that mishap, but he had struggled and strained to raise his status. Now he was as important to the Dark Lord as his father, Severus, and Aunt Bellatrix. "I've grown up; made my decisions; chose the right side."
He reached out and scrapped a finger down Potter's back, making sure to hit as many bruises as possible, pushing his short nails into the skin. "You, however, were on the wrong side all along."
Potter hissed and shifted, hissing some more. "What are you doing?"
Draco waited until Potter met his gaze. He held the green eyes, delighting in the fear that slowly replaced the relief. "I never did get to thank you for all the trouble you caused in my life. I think it's about time, don't you?"
"Crucio?" Potter asked, closing his eyes and making his body loose, something everyone who had the spell used on them repetitively learned soon enough. To tense was to increase the force of the spell. Draco had learned that a few years ago.
Draco rested his head against the sheets next to Potter's, staring into his eyes even though he couldn't focus because of how close they were. He drew Potter's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on the copper taste and loving it. This was raw, blood, Potter's life and he was sucking on it.
He released the flesh. "No. Not that. I want to do something you'll remember; not something that will become hazy with pain. I want you to remember the day I got you back, and I want you to get off on it, feel the shame."
Potter had the chutzpah to roll his eyes. Draco's anger flared. He moved lower, pulling Potter's legs apart roughly. "You're going to fucking hate me, as much as I used to hate you."
"There's nothing you can do that hasn't already been done," Potter gasped, his whole body shaking.
Draco dug his fingers into an unmarked part of his thighs, digging so deep Potter howled. "That may be so but you will remember this time." And he latched onto Potter's arsehole, biting and waiting until he felt the tang of blood before thrusting his tongue in. He smelled like come and musk and blood, and Draco was well aware that the Dark Lord had probably just shot his load up there but he didn't care.
Potter's hands were pushing weakly at his head. They grabbed a handful and pulled. Draco sunk his teeth into the bloody skin before pulling away and unzipping his trousers. He was as hard as ever, which surprised him. Who ever knew he would get off from raping someone?
Draco hoisted Potter's hips up until he was on his knees, face pressed into black silk, and stomach heaving. Draco aligned his cock with Potter's entrance.
Potter stopped breathing. "There's lube in the nightstand," he whispered and Draco fancied it was a plead.
Draco fondled a bruise. "Blood and spit will do." He pushed forward, sinking into the heat until his balls smacked against Potter's skin.
There was low a groan issuing out of Potter's mouth and Draco moved, not giving him time to adjust. He thrust out and in, revelling in the friction, the pressure, the way Potter thrashed beneath him.
Angling, Draco grabbed Potter's cock, feeling for the reaction it would give when he hit that spot deep inside him.
A gasp and his cock grew slightly. Draco kept hitting that spot, liking the way it made him rub even harder against the bite marks he had made. He squeezed Potter' cock harshly, wanting Potter to beg him.
"Stop," Potter managed, voice muffled against the bed.
"Beg me to."
"Never."
Draco growled his displeasure, reaching behind Potter's cock for his balls, squeezing them, all the while pumping into his arse.
Too soon, Draco was coming, filling Potter's body. He pulled out, watching a reddish mixture drip out of Potter's arse. He felt regenerated. Musingly, he patted Potter's cock, feeling it shrink. He no longer cared if Potter got off. Surely it had been shameful enough.
Draco climbed off the bed, watching Potter gasp into it, blood roll down his arse, over his balls, and sink into the sheets. Potter turned his eyes on Draco and there was odium there.
Draco smiled, licking his lips and tasting Potter's blood, copper with defeat, hate. He didn't blame the Dark Lord at all. It was fun breaking Potter. He only wished he could do it again.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1626
Pairing: Harry/Draco, mentions of Voldemort/Harry
Warnings: Non-con, blood, rimming
Summary: Draco never got Potter back, and Voldemort provides him with the best chance.
Note: Here you go strigoia. My attempt at dark fic. Don't say I didn't tell you I couldn't.
There he was. Draco knew he was there -- hell, everyone knew, but it was so different seeing it.
Not to mention he was writhering from a Crucio, his head lolling to the side, face pale and damp. There were tears running down his face.
Draco stared in fascination. He'd never seen Potter so degraded, so hopeless. Even when the Dark Lord has won two months ago and Potter was locked in a magic-proof cage, he had that defiant look on his face.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" Somehow the Dark Lord's voice could be heard over Potter's moans and screams.
"I came to tell you that there is a revolt in Liverpool. A large revolt. People are starting to worry about it."
"Fools," he growled, red eyes flashing but still pinned on the naked, flushed body of Draco's former school nemesis. Potter arched, throwing his head back and let out one long, low moan before collapsing into unconsciousness.
Draco was rather peeved that he'd never been able to do something like that to Potter. Cause him that much pain.
"You could," the Dark Lord said, finally looking over at him.
Draco closed his mind as best he could. It wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to hear just how repulsive he was. Someone, Granger, Draco had heard, had made a potion that would turn the Dark Lord back to his teen body. Of course, if it was Granger, Draco had a feeling she had been forced.
The fact remained, that either the potion took a long time to work correctly or it wasn't working, because the Dark Lord was in some weird stage where he had parts of his past self and parts of his present. He had thick black hair, pasty skin, shapely chest and stomach, no nose, and stick-thin legs. It was repulsive, especially when he was half-dressed, as was the case at the moment.
There had been rumours abound regarding exactly what it was that their leader did with the boy-who-lived, but Draco hadn't believed it. Homosexuality was condemned in the wizarding world, mostly with purebloods because of heir problems. Surely the Dark Lord would uphold that.
But now he wasn't so sure. The Dark Lord was carding his fingers through the sweaty hair on Potter's head, brushing down his bruised neck, and his equally bruised back, over his arse and stopped with his hand wrapped around Potter's left thigh.
Draco was receiving an amused look and he quickly looked away from Potter's body. "Some of your more...unfaithful followers are congregating down at Nott's house and I came to let you know, in case you wanted to do anything about it."
The Dark Lord nodded and Draco had to admit that he had nice hair, almost like Potter's except Potter's was always a mess.
The bed creaked as he stood, clothes floating out of the closet and wrapping around his pale, sickly body. He paused in the doorway, turning to look at Draco, who jumped, afraid to walk too close to him but knowing he wasn't supposed to stay in the room.
"He's a bit of a feisty one," said the Dark Lord, nodding towards Potter's unresponsive body. "Tries to break out every chance he gets."
Draco nodded, letting his confusion show through his mind if the Dark Lord was reading it.
Apparently he was because he nodded approvingly and commanded, "You will watch him until I get back. And remember what I said earlier."
His cloak swirled around his form as he left, the door shutting quietly behind him. Draco sighed in relief and then glared at Potter. He had better things to do than baby-sit. Some of the Death Eaters had planned an attack on Beccles, a town that was still dismissing the Dark Lord's rule. Draco was looking forward to attending it. He heard the Weasleys were there, still eluding capture.
A gasp resounded from the centre of the bed. Potter's body looked artistic against the silky black sheets, his fading tan standing out. The centre of the bruises matched the sheets, sounded by a dark blue fading into his skin.
Draco moved closer, eyes mentally following the trail the Dark Lord's hands had made down his skin. His gazed lingered on Potter's arse, redder closer to his anus. There was no doubt that the rumours were true. Potter had become a slave to the Dark Lord in more than one way.
Quite suddenly, Draco had the strong desire to own Potter, brand him, hurt him. He shook his head. It was silly. Potter was the Dark Lord's.
But he had said he could...
He moved beside Potter, towering over him so his shadow fell over Potter' face, letting him know someone was there.
Potter cracked open his eyes, wincing. "Malfoy?" he croaked.
"Yes." Draco climbed on the bed, staring at the marks covering Potter's body. He could now see all the scratches and bite marks and white lines indicating healing scars.
A wavy smile stretched Potter's lips and they broke, blood seeping out and rolling down his chin. "Are you here to get me out?"
Draco chuckled. "Why would you think that?"
"You couldn't kill Dumbledore that night."
"That was a long time ago," Draco murmured, not liking the reminder. He had paid dearly for that mishap, but he had struggled and strained to raise his status. Now he was as important to the Dark Lord as his father, Severus, and Aunt Bellatrix. "I've grown up; made my decisions; chose the right side."
He reached out and scrapped a finger down Potter's back, making sure to hit as many bruises as possible, pushing his short nails into the skin. "You, however, were on the wrong side all along."
Potter hissed and shifted, hissing some more. "What are you doing?"
Draco waited until Potter met his gaze. He held the green eyes, delighting in the fear that slowly replaced the relief. "I never did get to thank you for all the trouble you caused in my life. I think it's about time, don't you?"
"Crucio?" Potter asked, closing his eyes and making his body loose, something everyone who had the spell used on them repetitively learned soon enough. To tense was to increase the force of the spell. Draco had learned that a few years ago.
Draco rested his head against the sheets next to Potter's, staring into his eyes even though he couldn't focus because of how close they were. He drew Potter's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on the copper taste and loving it. This was raw, blood, Potter's life and he was sucking on it.
He released the flesh. "No. Not that. I want to do something you'll remember; not something that will become hazy with pain. I want you to remember the day I got you back, and I want you to get off on it, feel the shame."
Potter had the chutzpah to roll his eyes. Draco's anger flared. He moved lower, pulling Potter's legs apart roughly. "You're going to fucking hate me, as much as I used to hate you."
"There's nothing you can do that hasn't already been done," Potter gasped, his whole body shaking.
Draco dug his fingers into an unmarked part of his thighs, digging so deep Potter howled. "That may be so but you will remember this time." And he latched onto Potter's arsehole, biting and waiting until he felt the tang of blood before thrusting his tongue in. He smelled like come and musk and blood, and Draco was well aware that the Dark Lord had probably just shot his load up there but he didn't care.
Potter's hands were pushing weakly at his head. They grabbed a handful and pulled. Draco sunk his teeth into the bloody skin before pulling away and unzipping his trousers. He was as hard as ever, which surprised him. Who ever knew he would get off from raping someone?
Draco hoisted Potter's hips up until he was on his knees, face pressed into black silk, and stomach heaving. Draco aligned his cock with Potter's entrance.
Potter stopped breathing. "There's lube in the nightstand," he whispered and Draco fancied it was a plead.
Draco fondled a bruise. "Blood and spit will do." He pushed forward, sinking into the heat until his balls smacked against Potter's skin.
There was low a groan issuing out of Potter's mouth and Draco moved, not giving him time to adjust. He thrust out and in, revelling in the friction, the pressure, the way Potter thrashed beneath him.
Angling, Draco grabbed Potter's cock, feeling for the reaction it would give when he hit that spot deep inside him.
A gasp and his cock grew slightly. Draco kept hitting that spot, liking the way it made him rub even harder against the bite marks he had made. He squeezed Potter' cock harshly, wanting Potter to beg him.
"Stop," Potter managed, voice muffled against the bed.
"Beg me to."
"Never."
Draco growled his displeasure, reaching behind Potter's cock for his balls, squeezing them, all the while pumping into his arse.
Too soon, Draco was coming, filling Potter's body. He pulled out, watching a reddish mixture drip out of Potter's arse. He felt regenerated. Musingly, he patted Potter's cock, feeling it shrink. He no longer cared if Potter got off. Surely it had been shameful enough.
Draco climbed off the bed, watching Potter gasp into it, blood roll down his arse, over his balls, and sink into the sheets. Potter turned his eyes on Draco and there was odium there.
Draco smiled, licking his lips and tasting Potter's blood, copper with defeat, hate. He didn't blame the Dark Lord at all. It was fun breaking Potter. He only wished he could do it again.