Fanfic: Something Wicked This Way Comes (Glee/Harry Potter)

[robbiex21]

Title: Something Wicked This Way Comes
Author: robbiex21
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,595
Warning: Non-con, torture, voyeurism (kinda?), bondage, and inappropriate use of a wand.
Summary: Fill for this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme.
Disclaimer: Glee is not mine, and neither is Harry Potter.
Author's Note: I am so going to the special hell for this. I suppose it was inevitable though; Blaine is one of my favourite characters, and I have a history of finding ways to torture my favourite characters. Also, there's a bit more plot in this story than I originally intended. Apparently, I can't just write about Voldemort violating a sixteen year old boy... for no reason. Once I've given him a reason though? Well, this happens. And as a final note, I swear, the bad pun in the title was not intentional.



“Avada Kedavra!”

That was all it took. A couple of strange words and a flash of green light, and Blaine’s parents were dead on the floor. The man- if that was even what he was- that stood over them was a monstrous sight to behold: Chalk-white skin; a forked tongue; two slits where his nose should be; and those eyes, those ice-blue eyes that Blaine had been seeing in his nightmares since early childhood. He knew this man, had seen him once before, a very long time ago. But his father had always assured him that that had just been a nightmare.

The man was flanked on either side by two figures wearing black robes with the hoods pulled up, and silver masks that gave them an almost skeletal appearance.

“Hello, Blaine,” he said in an easy tone that belied his appearance. And, oh yeah, the aforementioned murder of Blaine’s parents.

They were in the kitchen, Blaine suddenly remembered. His mother had been cutting carrots for dinner. In a split second, Blaine had reached out and snatched the knife up off the bench, momentarily forgetting that a knife probably wouldn’t do him much good against someone who could kill people with words.

“Who are y-you?” he demanded, and immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut. It was hard to sound forceful when your voice shook with the effort it took not to break down in tears.

The man gave Blaine a smile that on anyone else might have looked reassuring. On him, it looked damn sinister. “You don’t remember me,” he said. “That’s no surprise, you were quite young the last time we met - when I finally tracked down your traitorous whore of a mother.”

“My mom was not a whore!” Blaine snapped, genuinely angered by the man’s words. His gaze shot briefly to his mother’s body, lying next to his father’s. “And- and she didn’t deserve to die.”

The man laughed. The sound sent chills down Blaine’s spine. “I’m afraid you do not know the whole story, my boy. This woman here is not your mother; just a fool who thought she could hide you and your filthy Muggle father from Lord Voldemort,” the man replied. Blaine’s blood ran cold at the name. Lord Voldemort. The man smiled again, and this time there was no attempt to look reassuring. “You recognize my name. That’s good. Perhaps you’ll recognize this, too.” From somewhere within his sleek black robes, he produced what at first glance appeared to be an ordinary piece of wood.

But as he held it out, giving Blaine a good look at it, something in Blaine’s brain clicked. He saw a blurry image of a woman’s face, a sad smile, and a slender hand gently waving the wand above his head. His eyes stung with tears of an entirely different sort now, and Voldemort’s cruel smile broadened.

Blinking furiously, Blaine started to say something, choked up, swallowed, and then tried again. “W-what do you w-want?” he asked, not even bothered this time that his voice shook.

He had thought that Voldemort looked sinister before, but that was nothing compared to the smile he gave Blaine now as he said, “I want you.” Then he struck like a snake, fast and hard. His wand whipped around, and Blaine never even had a chance to raise the knife before it was ripped from his hand by some unseen force. Another sharp flick of the wand, and Blaine’s world was swallowed by red light. A split second later he lost consciousness.

Enervate.

The word broke into the darkness and pulled Blaine back into consciousness. He groaned, shifted where he lay, and realized suddenly that he was not in his bed. His eyes snapped open, which didn’t help in the slightest because, as he realized a second later, he was blindfolded. His wrists and ankles were bound, and he was lying on what felt like a cold stone floor.

The events that had preceded him being knocked out suddenly crashed back into him, and Blaine let out a strangled sob as it finally sank in: His parents were dead. His parents… Except Voldemort said that the woman who had raised him for as long as he could remember was, in fact, not his mother; that she was hiding them, whatever that meant, from Voldemort himself. Once again, Blaine got a flash of a woman’s face, and that sad smile. Was that his mother, then? Or was it just a trick played by Voldemort to mess with his head? If he could wave a wand and kill two people in a flash of green light, was it possible he could plant fake memories in Blaine’s head.

The sound of someone breathing nearby broke in Blaine’s thoughts, and he turned his head in that general direction. He remembered the word that had revived him, and realized belatedly that someone would have had to say it.

“Who’s there?” he asked, sounding braver than he felt.

“You don’t know me,” replied a squeaky voice. With an English accent. Now that he thought of it, Voldemort had spoken with a similar accent.

“That’s not what I asked. Who are you?” Blaine repeated.

There was silence for a few seconds more, and then the voice stated, “My name is Peter.”

“Where am I?” Blaine asked. “Why did…” He paused, briefly, as the name came back to him. “Why did Voldemort bring me here?”

“Why does he do anything?” Peter asked, and Blaine assumed it was a rhetorical question since he continued on a second later. “Power. You’re proof that no one can get away from him, no matter how far they run. And also…” At this, Peter hesitated, and Blaine shifted helplessly in his bonds.

“Also what?” he pressed.

“Your mother,” Peter told him, and Blaine lifted his head in surprise, even though he still couldn’t see anything. “You’re proof of his power over her as well.”

“I don’t understand,” Blaine said, sniffling slightly. “Who is my mother?”

“Nobody,” Peter replied. “When the Dark Lord returned to power, nobody knew her name. Most still don’t.” Blaine sensed movement, head the sound of something hitting the floor. It seemed Peter had sat down nearby. “She was one of his followers during the first Wizarding War, but she betrayed him after his defeat, in the worst possible way.”

“What did she do?” Blaine asked, finding himself engrossed in spite of himself.

“She fell in love with a Muggle.”

That word. Voldemort had used it to describe Blaine’s father. He shifted uncomfortably once again, trying to make sense of it all and not having any luck. He had to know more. Besides, as long as he focused on Peter and Voldemort and this “Wizarding War”, he wouldn’t have to think about the… other things that had transpired since Voldemort had showed up at his home.

Oblivious to Blaine’s inner turmoil, Peter continued his bizarre tale. “Then when he returned… fourteen years ago now… she tried to hide you from him. But she should have known: You can’t keep secrets from the Dark Lord. He knew the moment he looked into her eyes…”

Blaine swallowed, and then asked, “Did he kill her?”

Peter laughed mirthlessly. “That would have been merciful. He promised her he’d make her watch as he killed you and your father, and then he cast the Imperius curse on her.”

“What’s the Imperius curse?” Blaine asked.

“It gives the caster complete control over another person,” Peter informed him. “And she’s been that way ever since. Under his complete control. And he kept his promise, in part at least.”

Blaine suddenly remembered the two figures that had been standing just behind Voldemort when he’d killed Blaine’s parents. Was one of them…? If Peter was to be believed (and given everything that had happened, Blaine suspected he was), had his mother- his biological mother- been standing right there?

“Wait.” Something had occurred to Blaine. “You said Voldemort told her he’d kill my father and me in front of her. So why am I here?”

For a long time, Peter didn’t respond. And when he finally spoke up again, he didn’t really answer Blaine’s question, only telling him, “As I said: Just killing her would have been merciful.”

Blaine felt his heart rate quicken, he started pulling desperately at the rope that bound his wrists. “Peter, what’s he going to do to me?” he asked, his voice barely going above a whisper.

“I’ve said too much already.” Peter sounded fearful now. He was moving, getting back to his feet. “He only sent me down here to wake you up.”

“Peter, please-” Blaine stopped when he heard a soft, cruel laugh coming from somewhere to his left. This was followed by the sound of a door opening, and light footsteps coming into the rom.

“Is it Peter again, then? You should have told me, Wormtail,” Lord Voldemort said mockingly.

“M-my lord, I’m sorry.” Peter, or Wormtail, or whatever he was called, sounded absolutely terrified.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to fear,” Voldemort assured him, and once again any attempt at actually being reassuring actually came across as disturbing, even though Blaine could only hear him this time. “I do not mind that young Blaine knows where he came from. In fact, this probably makes it better. At least now he’ll know who to blame for what comes next.”

“Are… are you going to kill me?” Blaine asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. His fear was almost palpable.

“Ah, Blaine.” A cold hand brushed his face, and Blaine jerked away. That got another cruel laugh from Voldemort. “You have your mother’s defiant spirit, I see. Good. To answer your question, no, I am not going to kill you. At least, not right now. Your mother’s punishment is not yet at an end.”

With that, Voldemort turned to leave. He stopped at the door only long enough to say, “Come, Wormtail,” and then he was gone. Wormtail was right behind him, leaving Blaine completely alone in the darkness once again.

Blaine eventually managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position against one of the walls. And there he sat, waiting, thinking. Mostly waiting, as he found that if he spent too long thinking, his thoughts would inevitably drift back to his parents’ deaths, or forward to whatever Voldemort had planned for him. He had no desire to dwell on either one of these thoughts, so he just let his mind wander, maybe dozing off here and there. It wasn’t like there was anything else he could do.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when the door finally opened again. The scrape of wood against stone brought Blaine out of his fitful sleep, and he sat up straighter, looking around before he remembered the blindfold that covered his eyes.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a gravely male voice that was neither Wormtail’s nor Voldemort’s. “We’ve been sent to collect you. My partner is going to untie your feet. Don’t make any trouble. The Dark Lord only wants you alive; he doesn’t care what condition you’re in.”

Shaking like a leaf, Blaine gave a hasty nod to show he understood.

“Alright, then. Let’s get this show on the road.” This voice was different from the first, younger and not so gruff.

One of them muttered something, and suddenly the rope fell off of Blaine’s ankles as if cut. Then he was hauled to his feet by a pair of strong hands, and shoved forwards. He staggered, almost lost his balance for a second, but managed to right himself.

“Forward,” said the first man, and Blaine hesitantly took a step forwards, then another. Unable to see, he could rely only on his two guards to keep him from walking into anything, and that thought didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. To his relief, though, they didn’t seem in any hurry. After a little while, Blaine actually started to wonder if they enjoyed watching him stumble forwards, unable to see, unable to even use his hands to guide him.

Every now and then, they’d come to a corner. Rather then tell Blaine which direction to go, all they would do was grab him by the shoulder and turn him towards it. The first time this had happened, Blaine had jumped practically a foot into the air in fright, which got a laugh out of the younger of the two guards.

“Okay, we’re here,” said the older guard suddenly.

Blaine stopped where he was, waiting. To his surprise, he felt the rope around his wrists loosen and then fall away. A second later, the blindfold was removed as well. Not that it was much of an improvement; the room was fairly dark, with the only light coming from a pair of flaming torches on the left and right walls. It wasn’t the torches that got Blaine’s attention, though. As he stood their, delicately rubbing his wrists, his gaze was drawn to a set of chains hanging from the ceiling. The manacles dangling from the ends of the chains gave a pretty good clue as to what they were used for.

“Okay, kid, strip.”

It took a second for it to sink in that that order was directed at Blaine. When it did, though, he spun around to face the guards, who were both dressed in the same black robes and mask as the two who had flanked Voldemort when he’d killed Blaine’s parents.

“What?”

The older guard let out a sigh that might have been pity, or it might have just been annoyance. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” He spoke slowly, putting emphasis on each word. It didn’t make Blaine anymore inclined to obey, though; instead, he wrapped his arms around his chest and shook his head pitifully.

“Please, don’t-”

The younger guard whipped out his wand before Blaine could finish his plea, and with a careless flick in the boy’s direction, he said, “Crucio.”

It hit him like hundreds of white hot needles in his spine, his gut, even his eyes. Nothing in Blaine’s life could have prepared him for that kind of pain. He screamed as he dropped to his hands and knees, and then fell onto his side, sobbing and whimpering and twitching all at once as the pain spread up and down his body, never staying in one place long enough for him to adjust. In all, it probably only lasted for a few seconds, five or ten at most, but to Blaine it felt like hours. When it ended, he was quivering from head to toe, curled up in the fetal position.

A tight grip on his hair brought his attention back to the two guards. It was the younger one that now forced his head up, so that their eyes met. “So, does my partner here need to repeat himself again, or are you going to follow his very simple instructions?”

Blaine bit back another sob that threatened to escape, and slowly uncurled his body. He decided pretty quickly he didn’t want to try to force himself back to his feet, still feeling the agonizing after effects of the spell or whatever that was. So instead he simply began unbuttoning his shirt from where he sat. It wasn’t easy, with his hands shaking as much as they were, but eventually he got enough to just slip it off over his head. Then he began trying to pull his pants down from where he sat, not having much luck until the older guard finally did take pity on him. He knelt down and pulled, and Blaine actually flinched because of all the things he could have helped with, why did it have to be that?

“Underwear too,” he said as he stood back up.

For a few seconds, Blaine just sat there, frozen. It wasn’t something he meant to do, but until that moment he had deluded himself into thinking that they didn’t actually want him naked. Now with that delusion shattered, it took Blaine a moment to actually pull his boxes down and slip them off the ends of his legs.

Now completely naked, Blaine pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling exposed, humiliated and, most of all, frightened. He knew, or suspected, where this was going, but he tried to put it out of his mind for as long as possible. Not an easy task when the cold stone floor felt like ice against his bare skin.

“Stand up,” the older guard ordered gruffly after a moment. One look at the younger guard, who was casually rolling his wand between his fingers, and Blaine struggled back to an upright position. He wasn’t going to give him any reason to do that Crucio spell again. He’d barely managed it when a cold voice drifted over from the doorway.

“It would appear I have arrived early.”

A chill passed over Blaine that had nothing to do with the temperature. If not for his situation, Blaine might have been impressed with the way Voldemort managed to sound menacing no matter what casual phrase he spoke. As it was, it just made him want to curl up in the fetal position again.

He felt only the smallest amount of satisfaction seeing that appeared to have the exact same affect on his guard, who both stood dumbly for a few seconds, looking between them, before Voldemort got impatient and snapped, “Do not keep your lord waiting!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Sorry, my lord.”

The older one walked over to the chains, while the younger one moved over to Blaine, who flinched when he put an arm around his shoulders.

“Come on, kiddo,” he said cheerfully. “The Dark Lord has something fun planned for you.”

He let out a sudden yell, scaring Blaine half to death, and leapt back as if burned. Blaine looked around wildly, and saw Voldemort with his wand out, glaring at the younger guard.

“I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut in the future, Avery,” he snarled. “I take no pleasure in what I am about to do.”

“O-of course, my lord,” Avery replied hastily.

“Rowle, restrain the boy,” Voldemort ordered, in a somewhat more amicable tone. “Our dear friend should be arriving momentarily.”

Rather then speaking, Rowle merely nodded, then walked over and led to Blaine back to the chains while Avery hung back, looking chastised. Blaine didn’t resist, too scared of what would happen given what he’d already seen (and felt) these people do. He kept his eyes on the floor as Rowle lifted his hands above his head, locking them into the manacles.

Almost instinctively, he pulled at them, just to test their strength. Predictably, they held fast.

“It is time,” Voldemort stated. Blaine looked up to see a figure, wearing the same robes and mask as Avery and Rowle, entering the room. He tensed as a sudden realization hit him - and wanted to kick himself for not having realized it sooner.

“Mom?” he gasped.

Voldemort gave him a cruel smile. “That’s right, Blaine,” he said. “Not that she would recognize you after all these years. And even if she did…” He held up his wand, not using it, but keeping it in plain sight, “… she could not say or do anything that I do not desire.”

Blaine’s breath went in and out in short pants. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

He got no answer. Voldemort made the faintest of gestures, and Blaine’s mother moved over to stand by the door, keeping Blaine in her line of sight and vice versa.

“It will be… unpleasant,” Voldemort informed him. “Avery.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine spotted Avery approaching. It took a second for him to realize that the man was slipping his belt off underneath his robes, and Blaine stiffened, trying to pull away as Avery got nearer.

“Relax, kid, I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Avery said, which was not reassuring in the slightest given what he’d already done to Blaine. What surprised him, however, was when Avery lifted the worn leather belt to his lips and continued, “You’ll be wanting to bite down on this before it’s over, mark my words.”

Blaine would just as soon not have had someone else’s belt shoved in his mouth, but Avery wasn’t giving him much choice. It was forced between his teeth, and then slipped through the buckle until it was tight against his face. He didn’t think it was actually hooked in though, since it was doubtful there was a hole that far down the belt to hook the buckle into.

For a few seconds after Avery stepped back, Blaine shook his head, trying to dislodge the belt. When that failed, and he noticed the look of amusement on Avery’s face, Blaine settled back down and resolved not to give Avery the satisfaction of watching him struggle. He went completely still, except for the shaking brought on by the cold and the fear of course. Avery folded his arms across his chest, still looking amused, so Blaine looked away and tried to put the older man out of his mind.

A second later, he felt something strike his bare back with the force of a whip, and Blaine let out a scream had hadn’t been aware he was capable of. Another hit came, and Blaine screamed again. They kept coming, so fast and so excruciating that he quickly lost count of how many times he’d been struck. Before long he’d screamed himself hoarse, and could only manage a whimper each time after that. At some point, he realized his face was wet, and he wondered in the back of his mind when he’d started crying.

It took a little while, but eventually, Blaine realized that the lashings had stopped. Almost against his will, his head turned as he tried to look over his shoulder, expecting to see Voldemort standing there with a whip. Instead, all he held in his hand was his wand.

Blaine’s brow furrowed in confusion, and something akin to a smile spread across his lips.

“Curious, my boy?” he asked, and Blaine immediately looked away, not wanting to bring anymore attention to himself than was necessary. But it was already too late, he had the Dark Lord’s attention now. “I suppose it’s understandable, given your Muggle upbringing.” Voldemort was so close, Blaine could feel his breath on the back of his neck. “You will find, Blaine, that magic is a more than ample substitute for your pathetic Muggle tools.”

Before Blaine even had a chance to process this, he felt something hard and pointed moving teasingly over his right buttock. He stiffened involuntarily, and at the same time tried to get away from it. The chains did not allow for much movement, even with only his hands bound, and he was restricted even further when Voldemort’s arm snaked around his chest, his hand seizing Blaine’s chin and holding him in place.

“Behave,” Voldemort whispered in his ear. It sent a shiver down Blaine’s spine, and he let out a quiet whimper. “Lord Voldemort is not unmerciful.”

As the object reached his hole, it suddenly occurred to Blaine that it was too small, too thin to be a cock. So what, then, was Voldemort holding over his anus? The answer came in the form of a strange, numbing sensation that went through him as the object penetrated him and it suddenly hit Blaine: These people had wands! Lord Voldemort was sticking his wand up Blaine’s ass. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he wasn’t sure if the numbness took the edge off or just made it worse.

“Ugh!” Blaine sank his teeth into the soft leather of the belt as the wand was eased out, and then pushed back in again. This was repeated twice more, until Voldemort was apparently satisfied that Blaine’s entrance was properly prepared.

After that, Blaine could no longer delude himself into believing that he didn’t know what was coming next. In fact, he’d known- or at least suspected- pretty much since Rowle had made him undress, he just couldn’t admit it to himself; couldn’t acknowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

When Voldemort finally levelled his cock at Blaine’s hole and pushed it into him, Blaine arched his back and cried out in pain; his fists clenched as he pulled uselessly against the manacles; and he bit into the belt with such force that he was surprised he didn’t bite right through it. Nothing he had ever seen or read could have prepared him for that, and no amount of numbness could quite take away the pain of Voldemort forcing his cock into Blaine’s anus.

That was just the beginning though. As Voldemort eased back a little bit, he reached up and covered Blaine’s mouth with one hand, his nails digging into Blaine’s cheek and making the boy wince. Then he pushed back in again, and although Blaine thought he would be better prepared for it, this time the pain almost caused his knees to give out underneath him.

“Remember, Blaine,” Voldemort whispered in his ear as Blaine bit down hard on the belt and shook with the effort it took not to weep openly. “Remember that she is the reason this is being done to you. She brought you into this world, and left you to me.”

Blaine looked at the person standing by the door, the one he assumed to be his mother. He pleaded with his eyes, begging her to do something, but she remained motionless; for all intents and purposes, she might as well have been a statue.

Still with his hand pressed tightly over Blaine’s mouth, Voldemort penetrated a third time, going deeper than he had before. Muffled sobs escaped Blaine as the punishment continued, each time Voldemort plunged back into him like a new experience in pain. By the time Voldemort finally came within him, Blaine didn’t even have the strength to cry out. He shuddered, violently, and felt like he was going to be sick, but he did not make a sound.

He didn’t feel Voldemort pull out of him; all he could feel now was sharp, agonizing pain. He hardly noticed when the manacles released him, except when he first hit the cold stone floor. He couldn’t move, or didn’t want to. His body refused to listen to him.

“Take him back to his cell,” Voldemort said curtly. “I am finished with him for now.”

With that, Lord Voldemort swept out of the room, with Blaine’s mother following close behind.

Blaine had neither the strength nor the inclination to move, and no amount of prodding from Avery and Rowle could change that. Both seemed reluctant actually try lifting him to his feet, so in the end, Avery took out his wand once more.  Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the return of the torture spell Avery had used on him earlier, but that wasn’t the incantation he heard a second later.

“Imperio.”

It all vanished, like the gentle receding of the tide. All Blaine’s pain and misery was washed away, leaving only a vague sense of self awareness. He felt almost as if he were floating, like the world couldn’t quite touch him, which was no problem for him at all.

Get up, a voice whispered in his mind. Get up now. It’s time to go.

Blaine laid there for only a few seconds more before responding in kind. Okay, he thought. I’ll go.