The Conquering; Gift for luciusmistress!
Recipient: luciusmistress
Title: The Conquering
Author: lily_phoenix731
Beta: Anonymous
Pairing/s: Harry/Voldemort, some Draco/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): AU, Slash, Non-con, Oral, Anal, Torture, Dark, BDSM, Slavery, Language, Humiliation ... all that good stuff.
Length: 7,400
Summary: AU. Lord Voldemort enjoys the spoils of his victory ... “There is no escape, Harry,” he hisses, his lips at Harry’s ear. “You are mine.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: --
The Conquering
One: Defeat
It had been nearly a month since the end of the war. One month since the Dark Lord’s forces had penetrated Hogwarts’s defenses. One month since Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Luna Lovegood, and countless others had perished in the battle that had followed. One month since Lord Voldemort had brought Harry Potter to his knees.
It had been then that Harry had first welcomed death. He felt foolish for ever expecting such an easy end, when he remembered that moment in the weeks that followed. The moment when Voldemort had announced his plans for Harry Potter in the new world order.
“This boy,” Voldemort had said, “will henceforth serve as a reminder to all of what fate awaits anyone foolish enough to oppose me further.”
And then, Voldemort had secured a collar around Harry’s neck.
Harry had once served as a beacon of hope for the resistance against Voldemort. Now, he was kept alive to serve as a different type of beacon entirely. He was to be used as a warning signal, to maintain submission in Voldemort’s domain.
**
Voldemort established Hogwarts as the center of his regime, which, although it came as no surprise to him, still distressed Harry immensely.
The one place Harry had once seen as his only home now had become his own personal hell. Even during the very worst days of his education there, Harry had still been able to depend upon comfort from Ron and Hermione. But now …
Harry supposed he ought to be grateful for the fact that his two friends had managed to escape with their lives. It had, after all, been Harry’s last desperate act, the very last choice he had been able to make ---the decision to force his friends to flee with their lives despite their cries of protests--- before the Resistance had collapsed before him.
The knowledge that they were still fighting, as Harry knew they would be, kept him from giving in himself.
**
Harry shudders as he feels the long, cold white fingers of his enemy caress him gently. As he screws up his eyes against the building pain in his scar, he hears Voldemort murmuring in the familiar hiss that Harry knows to be Parseltongue. Suddenly, he feels scaly skin gliding over the flesh of his stomach as Voldemort bends over to kiss him.
And then, all Harry knows is the taste of what could only be death as Voldemort’s tongue invades every inch of his mouth. He struggles fruitlessly against the ropes binding him, and Voldemort laughs.
“There is no escape, Harry,” he hisses, his lips at Harry’s ear. “You are mine.”
“No,” Harry gasps, “never.” He strains harder than ever against his bindings, knowing it will do him no good. Voldemort laughs again.
“Oh yes, Harry,” he says softly, “Always … and forever.” Forever …
Harry forces back a scream of horror and pain as a finger enters him, working him open. Voldemort’s eyes are upon him as he works, and a smile is upon his lipless mouth as he pushes a second, third, and fourth finger inside of Harry.
“Scream for me."
No. Harry bites his lip, but refuses to look away as Voldemort violates him. And he
refuses to scream. He will not allow himself to become a victim.
“Scream.”
The fingers are removed. Voldemort clutches Harry’s ankles and forces his legs upwards, so that they rest upon his shoulders.
“Scream, Harry.”
Harry has to choke back a sob as something hot and hard is positioned against his entrance. A smile is curling Voldemort’s mouth.
He plunges inside.
It takes nearly every ounce of strength Harry has to prevent himself from crying out. Voldemort thrusts himself inside even deeper this time, grunting with pleasure.
Tears stream from Harry’s eyes as he takes it, as he watches Voldemort watching him, as he holds back every single cry, moan, and gasp of agony that threatens to burst forth with every thrust. He can hear Voldemort groaning above him, hissing in a fit of ecstasy.
“Scream, Harry Potter.” Voldemort raises his wand.
And then Harry is screaming, harder and louder than ever before in his life, as he feels the Cruciatus Curse hit him. He convulses violently, as the excruciating pain of the curse mingles with every one of Voldemort’s thrusts, which suddenly become more frantic and vigorous.
“Yes, Harry Potter, yes,” he is yelling wildly.
The curse subsides as Voldemort comes inside of him. He bends down to kiss Harry once more.
“I win,” he whispers against Harry’s shuddering lips, “I win."
*~*~*~*
Two: Three Years Later
After nearly three years, Harry’s routine had hardly changed at all.
He was awakened from an uneasy sleep every morning by an elf, promptly at seven-thirty; it was the elf that untied his ankles and wrists from the bedposts of the bed, where he was securely bound every evening before. He was then allowed ten minutes to bathe, before being dressed in robes of Voldemort’s choosing and being sent to off to breakfast with him.
Today, Harry has been given fine, silk black robes with a green trim around the collar. He dressed in silence. He then allowed the elf to guide him from his bedchambers, which had been Gryffindor Tower until Voldemort’s regime had established Slytherin as the only permissible Hogwarts House and thus rendered it obsolete, and down to Voldemort’s chambers, which had previously been Dumbledore’s office. If Harry had not been inside Dumbledore’s office so many times before, he never would have guessed that it was the very same place. What had once been a warm, inviting room, with books and portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses covering the walls, and a large highly polished desk covered with various curious objects, now resembled a cold, dark lair. Voldemort always kept the heavy green curtains drawn, so that the only source of light came from the candles. The entire room was covered in black and green drapery, all adorned with serpents. Even after three years, the shock of finding this room, rather than Dumbledore’s old office, behind the large oak doors had not subsided.
Voldemort was seated, as usual, behind the long black table that had replaced Dumbledore’s desk, with Nagini draped around his shoulders. He inclined his head ever so slightly, and Harry took that as a sign to sit. At once, a plate of food appeared before Harry. Voldemort watched him as he ate, tenting his fingertips and smiling that disgusting, self-satisfied smirk that Harry so despised. When at last he had finished, Voldemort spoke.
“Well, then, my pet, if you are quite finished, we’ve a busy day ahead of us.” He rose from his chair and approached Harry, his red eyes glowing with anticipation. “Some rather important matters arose late last night that must be attended to.”
Harry looked up with the slight sense of trepidation that he had grown accustomed to feeling on occasions such as these. He knew the look Voldemort was giving him only too well; it was the look he had worn on the night that he had stolen Harry’s virginity.
After breakfast, Voldemort was usually in the habit of bringing Harry to his rooms to “make use of his services”, as Voldemort put it.
Today, however, Voldemort led him through the dark passageways of the school, which, like the Headmaster’s office, were now completely unrecognizable beneath the ornate serpentine decorations that adorned the walls. Apparently, he had something special planned for him. Although he could not see his face presently, Harry was sure that Voldemort was still wearing that damn smirk upon his face. Three years later, the sight of that smile twisting the Dark Lord’s face still managed to inspire a passionate hatred inside of Harry.
Upon reaching the entrance to the dungeons, Voldemort’s intentions became apparent at once.
The dungeons presently served as the new regime’s torture chambers. It was also the place that Voldemort had taken Harry the first time he had taken Harry publicly. So Harry reckoned that was what Voldemort had in mind for today.
He was right. Partially.
**
Hooded and masked, the Death Eaters had formed a silent circle around the perimeter of the room. The moment Voldemort entered the room, every single one of them fell to their knees. The Dark Lord strode, almost lazily, toward the throne at the center of the room. He waved his wand, causing a leash to appear out of thin air and coil itself tightly around the collar at Harry’s neck. Once seated upon his throne, Voldemort tugged at the leash, so that Harry stumbled, and collapsed at Voldemort’s feet. A few Death Eaters chuckled appreciatively.
“Sit here, at my feet, Harry Potter,” Voldemort whispered, his smile more pronounced than ever. “Where you belong.”
Treatment such as this was nothing new to Harry, of course, but he remained wary as he positioned himself accordingly. From the looks of things, nearly all of the Death Eaters had been summoned. Oh great.
Then Voldemort spoke.
“Welcome, all,” he said. “Many of you, of course, are already aware of last night’s events. For those of you who are not aware as of late, I assure you, they are indeed cause for celebration.”
He looked sideways at Harry for a fraction of a second before continuing.
“Last night, at precisely two o’clock, the Resistance attempted a coup at the Ministry in London.”
At these words, a smattering of gasps and titters emerged from the circle of listening Death Eaters. Harry’s heart skipped several beats as his breath hitched in his throat. He knew at once what had happened, even before Voldemort confirmed his fears with his next pronouncement.
“Of course, the coup failed miserably. Not only were they completely unaware that Hogwarts, not the Ministry, is the center of my grand new world order, but they also failed to properly assess the security of the building. The coup attempt was crushed completely a quarter of an hour later, and a member of the Resistance was captured.”
The Death Eaters surrounding him began murmuring excitedly. Eyes fixed unblinkingly on Harry, Voldemort whispered his instructions to the Death Eaters:
“Bring her in.”
**
The door on the side of the chamber burst open. Four more Death Eaters trudged inside, dragging a resistant prisoner in with them.
It was Ginny.
“No!” Harry cried, at the sight of her. He started toward her, impulsively, all of his pride and control forgotten, but Voldemort just laughed and dragged him backward, into his lap. Harry knew his efforts were futile; the damn collar was charmed to prevent hasty actions such as this. He could already feel it constricting against his neck, working its horrible magic; next second, every muscle in his body seemed to loosen, and all of the energy in his body seemed to dissipate. Voldemort seized his wrists and pulled him close, so that his lips were at Harry’s ear. He chuckled softly.
“My, my, Harry, how quickly you seem to have forgotten your place!” he said quietly, as he grabbed a hank of Harry’s hair and pulled his head back, the long fingernails digging into his scalp painfully. Under normal circumstances ---well, as normal as circumstances could be --- Harry would have been horribly ashamed. He always strived to keep his responses under control, and this lack of restraint had just destroyed everything that he had worked so hard to achieve for the past three years. But the sight of Ginny before him drove all thought of dignity from his mind presently. “Place her here, before me,” he ordered the Death Eaters, who did as they were bidden at once.
“Well, now,” Voldemort said, almost casually, as he gazed down at the one girl Harry had wished, with every fiber of his being, he would never see again. “Who would suspect that your precious friend would fall right into my very lap, my pet?” He raised one of his long white fingers and began to trace the contour of Harry’s face gently.
The face that stared back at Voldemort was pale and determined; any fear Ginny may have felt was absent from her expression, which only registered anger and defiance.
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime to him, Harry was terrified. He had long
ago given up on the wonderful idea that Voldemort’s regime could possibly be defeated. Since then, he had become nearly desensitized to the endless stream of brutality that he was forced to endure on a daily basis. But suddenly, the emotion that Harry thought he could never feel ever again seemed to reignite in the pit of his stomach, the moment Ginny was dragged into the chamber.
Voldemort faced the prisoner at his feet.
“Fool, did you truly think that you could possibly overthrow the new wizarding order? Were you really naive enough to believe that I would allow such a thing to occur?” he said dangerously. “No, of course not; after three long years, you still remain deluded enough to maintain false hope of a better world, led by Mudbloods and blood traitors and other worthless scum. However, I do not deny that I am pleased to have seen this coup occur. It can only serve to reinforce the truth to you, and the entire world: Resisting this regime, resisting me, is futile. And, of course, you may finally see what has become of my pet.”
Voldemort grabbed the end of the collar, dragging Harry’s head completely backward, and plunged his tongue furiously into his mouth.
As Harry made to resist him, the collar around his neck constricted again, and all of the muscles in his body seemed to slacken once more. All Harry could do was sit there, forced into unendurable passivity, as Voldemort began to kiss him harshly, with his hand holding Harry’s head firmly in place and his tongue pressing against every inch of his mouth. Harry moaned despondently, desperate to escape, but it was no good; his limbs simply would not obey him. This fucking collar! Harry thought frantically, as Voldemort began to suck on Harry’s lower lip, tugging at it, emitting a soft noise of pleasure as he did so. He felt teeth brush against his lip and then, without warning, Voldemort bit down harshly. Harry let out a startled, strangled cry; he felt blood gushing from his swelling lips as Voldemort continued to kiss him fiercely.
After what seemed like hours, Voldemort withdrew, his expression triumphant.
“Well, well, this certainly will be a great deal of fun!” he laughed coldly. “We are all in for a rare treat, are we not, my pet?”
And suddenly it was like the past three years had never even happened. The numbness Harry had become so accustomed to, so dependent on, was gone completely, as if it had never existed in the first place. The past three years had drained him of his capacity to fear, to care, to think. He had lost any sense of morality that he had possessed; it had not mattered, not in this hell. All Harry held on to was the notion that he simply could not allow himself to beg, to scream, to show any pain whatsoever. His entire existence, he had come to realize, was merely a test of his endurance, an exercise in tolerating pain. He could not hope for a release from this life of misery. Without the ones he loved, it had been easy, in time, to forget his life and everything he had once held so dear to his heart. With no real contact, no connection to anything but pain and death and emptiness, the fear he felt for his friends’ safety had been replaced by a dull sense of ignorance. But the knowledge that he could have possibly forgotten everything ---Ginny, with her bold gaze, and her daring nerve, and her glorious, flowery aroma, oh, how could he possibly have forgotten, Ginny…!--- inspired a sense of shame and guilt the likes of which Harry had never known before.
He felt like an eighteen year old virgin again: terrified of what the future held in store for him, and for the girl he cared for. How could the Resistance have been so reckless, so stupid? Why had they brought this horror upon him?
“Who was responsible for her capture?” Voldemort said to the room at large; it was Lucius Malfoy, in his low, drawling voice, that answered.
“My Lord,” he said at once, “The Resistance was found only five minutes after the Resistance forces entered the Ministry. The prisoner was quickly subdued by a group of your dedicated servants --- Bellatrix, Zabini, my son, and myself.”
“Excellent,” Voldemort said, grinning. “Well, then, I think it only fitting that you and your fellows should be the first ones to have her.”
And suddenly, Harry knew what was going to happen.
And there was nothing ---nothing!--- that he could do.
**
“I suppose you are wondering why I haven’t just killed you, Harry,” I whisper to the boy.
It is a lovely sight - his wrists, magically bound, are wrapped around my neck, and my naked form is pressed against his. It is a beautiful perversion of sensuality. The boy does not deign to offer me a response. Long ago he gave up on his pitiful attempts to subdue my desire for his flesh. Rather, he now lays quiescent, striving to suppress his own responses to me.
Of course, I am well aware of the boy’s intentions. I therefore reach over and pinch one of his tender nipples harshly. Now I feel him shudder slightly, though he does not cry out.
I continue:
“It is quite simple - why give up such a delicious prize? You, my boy, are quite an exquisite token indeed.”
Again, the boy does not reply. This amuses me greatly; does he truly expect to ease his suffering by defying me? No, no … this simply will not do.
I flip him onto his backside and proceed to bite the tip of his nipples, as roughly as I dare.
His breathing itself ---full of repressed misery, anger, and shame at once---- is simply orgasmic. Already I can feel myself growing hard.
“Tonight, Harry Potter, you will learn the true beauty of pain.”
I study the boy’s face carefully, so as to detect, if any, his reaction to this. Only his eyes reveal any indication of fear, yet this is the only confirmation I need.
I hold the boy’s cock for a few moments, relishing the feeling of it in my hands and the slight tensing of his muscles, before I go to work. I place both hands against the sides of his shaft and he gasps as I begin to stroke him up and down, my movements slow and calculated. A few moments pass, before the boy’s blood betrays him, and his prick is stiffening in my hands. I smile. Encouraged, I pull back the foreskin on the head and insert the tip of my finger inside the slit there, eliciting a deliciously feeble moan from him. As I cup his balls and begin to squeeze there as well, his breathing becomes faster and less controllable.
Then, I dip down and swirl the tip of my tongue on the head of his cock. The boy’s hands curl into fists; he bites his lip; he closes his eyes. But he does not scream.
However, he does grow harder. Oh yes, as courageous and bold and self-righteous as he is, the boy cannot manage to subdue himself in my presence. That is when I part my lips and engulf his entire prick in my mouth, tongue still sweeping across him furiously. The erratic breathing that comes from the boy as a result of my efforts wind my wanton desire to an even higher pitch.
Then, as I swallow his cock once more, I plunge a finger inside his arsehole.
Immediately, I can feel the boy react. Tenser than ever, his body betrays him more brutally than I ever could; his climax builds steadily, until nature can no longer be denied.
I withdraw seconds before he comes, spurting wildly in all directions. A moment later, I come as well; my seed splatters all over the boy’s face.
Yet, he still is not screaming.
By the end of this night, he will be.
*~*~*~*
Three: Ginny
A month after the war had ended, Harry found he could endure the physical pain of penetration. He could stand being tied to a four-poster bed every evening. He could deal with Voldemort’s taunting, with the constant burning of his scar, with the searing pain of knife’s blade as it sliced open his bare flesh …
He found that he could endure this pain because he was subjected to it every single day.
But he could not endure this.
He could not stand to watch as Bellatrix Lestrange, Blaise Zabini, Lucius Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy sauntered forward, lowered their hoods, and seized Ginny, binding her arms to the suspension bar above her head.
But he had to.
He had to, because Voldemort was grasping the collar around his neck firmly, with his other hand holding his wrists, now bound together with a thick length of rope, behind his back. He had to, because he was completely helpless to stop it.
**
The boy is writhing beneath me, and his convulsions are sending me into a frenzy. I feel as if I may come right on the spot, just by the very sound of his tormented screams.
**
The Death Eaters considered Ginny thoughtfully, looking at her naked form hungrily.
“She’s still a virgin,” Draco said at once, in a voice of immense contempt and disgust. “There’s no possible way any man could have fucked this blood traitor, I’d stake my life on it.” He smiled maliciously. “Either way, I was the one who caught her. I want to be her first.”
“No!” Harry cried out at once. “No, no, don’t you FUCKING dare, Malfoy --- if you so much as TOUCH her ---”
The chamber was full of the Death Eaters’ laughter.
“Oh, but I shall be touching her Potter,” Draco said lightly, turning to face Harry. “I’m going to touch her in every single imaginable place, and then, I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to tear her open, and you are going to watch it all.”
Voldemort laughed cruelly.
“Very well, Draco,” he said pleasantly, “You may proceed.”
**
Every cry, every grunt, every quiver the boy makes that intimates the extent of his agony seems to impart to me this knowledge: That I, Lord Voldemort---
**
It was worse than Harry could have possibly imagined.
Draco was cupping Ginny’s breasts with his hands, his eyes fixed on her face. He began to tweak, and then pinch, her nipples gently with his fingers, his movements slow and deliberate. Ginny was biting her lip, refusing to grant him even the smallest whimper, the slightest indication that he was getting to her. Then, Draco lowered his head, and within seconds, he had captured her left breast in his mouth. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat as she withheld a gasp, just as Draco began swirling his tongue upon her nipple. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing; but then she felt Draco’s teeth bite down. Hard.
Ginny let out a small whimper --- the first sound Harry had heard from her lips in over three years. “Ginny…” he moaned helplessly.
“Don’t speak, my pet,” he heard Voldemort whisper in his ear. Before Harry knew what was happening, Voldemort had raised his wand; with a lazy flick, Harry’s robes had vanished completely, leaving him completely naked. “Just enjoy the display.” And, to Harry’s horror, he began to stroke his own nipples slowly. No! Harry thought harshly, No, I won’t let you get a reaction out of me for this, not for her ---
Draco’s hands were all over her body now, caressing her slowly, as if staking his claim upon every inch of her flesh. His hand gravitated down to her thighs, and Ginny let out a cry of pain as his finger parted her. Draco chuckled softly as he brought his lips to her ear.
“So you are a virgin, after all, you little bitch,” he whispered harshly. “Saving yourself for Potter, then, were you?” He allowed his finger to sink inside more deeply, laughing maliciously as she let out another cry. “How pathetic.” Then, the finger was withdrawn; Draco had stepped back. He kept his eyes concentrated on her own as he, very slowly, began to disrobe.
Voldemort began to stroke Harry’s nipples more fervently, his breath growing more ragged now. And, to his distress, Harry felt his cock twitch pleasurably at his ministrations. No! he thought to himself desperately, as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the blood out of his prick. No, don’t, no, stop, don’t, don’t ---
Then, a sharp cry rang through the chamber. Harry’s eyes flew open.
Ginny’s hands had been untied from the bar above her head. Blaise Zabini was holding her hands behind her back as she was forced into a kneeling position. Her head was positioned directly in front of Draco, who was holding his swollen cock in his hands. He grasped a handful of her long red hair and guided her head to his groin, so that the tip of his member brushed against her lips.
“No---” Harry tried to say, but he couldn’t breathe. And, as a mixture of fear and abhorrent pleasure constricted his lungs, Draco stuffed his cock into her mouth. Ginny let out a muffled cry as he began thrusting in and out, with his head thrown back, his eyes closed tightly, his breathing erratic.
That was when Harry felt wet lips upon his him. Voldemort was trailing kisses along the flesh of his neck, sucking lightly as he went. He could hear Draco moaning with pleasure --- Ginny grunting and choking every time his shaft grazed the back of her throat, making her gag --- the circle of Death Eaters howling with laughter --- and the sound of Voldemort suckling his neck …
Draco had withdrawn, his cock still hard and throbbing. Ginny had bitten down, causing him to shriek with pain; he smacked her, hard, across the face, banging the back of her head against the cool chamber floor. Temporarily dazed, Ginny laid quiescent on the ground, as Draco repositioned himself, this time against her entrance, his eyes fixed on hers.
“You’ll pay for that one, you little cunt,” he growled.
“No!” Harry had finally gathered enough breath to speak. His yell echoed in the chamber all around him. “No, you sick FUCK Malfoy, no, don’t, you --- don’t -- you ---”
“Harry …” It was Ginny. Her voice was weak, quiet. “Harry, please don’t ---”
“I love you,” he breathed desperately, just as he felt Voldemort’s hand tighten around his own cock, and Draco thrust himself inside of her.
The sound of Ginny’s screams mingled with sudden, ungodly pleasure as Voldemort began to squeeze Harry’s shaft mercilessly. Harry tried, with all of his might, to block out the intense feeling of ecstasy building in his crotch, but he could not focus. All he knew was that pleasure and pain were one in the same for him, as he felt his climax approach beneath Voldemort’s fingers and Ginny’s screams.
And then, Harry came. His seed spurted out in all directions as he let out a furious howl of shame.
**
---have, truly, won.
“I win.” I whisper triumphantly against the boy’s shuddering lips. “I win.”
*~*~*~*
Four - Bargain
It was as if it were the very first day of his enslavement, all over again. The torture of seeing Ginny’s virginity stolen away from her as Voldemort pleasured him was too much to bear as he was dragged away, back to Voldemort’s chambers.
**
“Kneel.”
Harry had heard the same instruction before for nearly three years. For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, he found himself unable ---no, unwilling--- to obey.
“You bastard.” Shaking with rage, Harry could not prevent the words from escaping his lips. “You - sick - fucking - BASTARD.”
But Voldemort merely laughed. A second later, his wand was raised, and Harry felt himself being pulled inexorably toward him, the chain around his neck constricting mercilessly. In an instant, Voldemort’s lips were at his ear, hissing.
“I’d almost begun to think you had abandoned that sense of resistance, Harry,” he murmured, his voice full of barely disguised hunger. “Oh, tonight will be a delight, my pet, I assure you.”
**
It has been so long since I have had such pleasure. For the first time in two years, the boy is fighting me; he is struggling, spouting as many epithets as he can think of.
How I’ve missed this.
With his ankles bound and his wrists secured in tight cords behind his back, I push him forward so that his chest is pressed against the hearth rug by the fire and his arse is perfectly positioned in the air. I lean over to whisper into his ear.
“You are going to scream for me tonight, Harry Potter.” In that instant, I know that the boy is going to do everything in his power to prevent this.
My fingers graze the tip of his cock. I feel him shudder as, even through his misery, he begins to react.
“You see, Harry?” I say, as I peel back the foreskin and slip my fingernail into the slit, eliciting yet another shudder of pain and pleasure, “You simply cannot deny your body, boy. You love it every time I touch you, every time I make you come against your will…”
“No,” he says weakly, as if he actually hopes to fight me off, “no---”
“Oh yes, Harry,” I reply; with that I being to pump the length of his prick and, despite it all, he stiffens in response. “Look at how you’re already hot and hard for me, you little slut. Try as you might, you cannot deny that we are a part of each other, Harry. You cannot deny that every time I fuck you, you scream with delight. You love it when I bury myself inside you and claim your body, when I fill you up so completely …”
“You … sick … twisted … fucking ---” the boy can barely speak. I spare him the trouble of forming the words and push a finger deep inside of him. He moans.
“That’s it,” I say, as I begin to push in and out, coaxing open that taut ring of muscle, “spread for me.”
A minute later, I can feel the tears sliding down his face. I bend over to lick them slowly away, and he shivers.
“Spread your legs,” I command.
“No,” the boy manages to stammer.
“Spread them, Harry.”
“N-no.”
“Spread your legs!”
His resistance is intoxicating, and the need to take him becomes unbearable. I force his legs apart with my legs and, seconds later, I push my cock deep inside of him.
The boy cries out as I begin to fuck him. With every thrust, he shudders; tears are falling shamelessly from his eyes now, and I know he is thinking of the girl. I smile.
“To think --- tomorrow we may see my faithful Death Eaters do the very same” --- another thrust inside, another moan from the boy--- “to the girl. You would enjoy that, yes?”
“No---!” the boy cries out, angrily now. I thrust inside once more, and he winces horribly as he all but collapses in despair.
“Of course --- I could be convinced the spare her the indignity of facing my Death Eaters.” I remain still inside his arse, allowing the weight of my words to penetrate. But he does not move.
“What --- do you want?”
I grin. Even now he cannot put his own personal dignity above the welfare of his friends.
“Everything. Your body, you mind, your soul … your complete obedience, Harry.”
“What -- what are you going to do to G --- to her … if I agree?”
“I will allow her to go free if --and only if-- I am satisfied that you have submitted to my will and surrendered yourself to me completely. Of course, this will require --- a test. A test of your devotion to dear Ginny.” The boy shakes beneath me as I say her name. “If I find that I am satisfied, I will let her go free back to her family.”
I can practically hear the boy’s internal struggle as he takes in the meaning of my words. Then ---
“Will you promise -- to let her go if I … if I do it?”
“I shall. But---” I grin more broadly now, “You must continue to do exactly as I wish, Harry, long after she is freed. Are you sure you are willing to surrender yourself to every single one of my desires, for the rest of your life --- merely for the life of a girl?”
There is a pause before the boy responds. “Yes.”
“Very well then.”
And with that, I thrust back to him again, and as the boy cries out in pain and misery, I come vigorously inside of him.
**
It’s the only way.
That’s all Harry could keep telling himself, as he was led slowly toward the dungeons by two Death Eaters, the following day. The plain black robes that Harry had been ordered to wear for the occasion were thin and ragged; light as silk, they hardly prevented the cold of the dungeons from penetrating his skin, so that Harry found himself shivering by the time they reached the door to the inner chamber.
He felt himself slam to the cold floor of the dungeon room as the nearest Death Eater pushed Harry carelessly forward at Voldemort’s feet. There is a cold, appreciative chuckle at this.
“Stand up, Harry, and remove your robes. Let everyone see that body of yours.”
It came to Harry as no surprise that he would be forced to endure this in front of the Death Eaters, of course, but the prospect of performing for them still remained as intimidating as ever. Shaking a little, Harry shrugged the robes off smoothly, and let them drop to the floor to reveal his naked form.
“NO!” cried a terrified voice from the corner. Harry froze.
Ginny.
He looked up, and there she was - as bruised and beaten as ever, she was chained up against the wall in a far corner of the room, struggling wildly against her bonds. “No! - Harry, DON’T!”
With all the effort he could muster, Harry forced himself to turn away. Back toward Voldemort’s leering face.
“Come,” he said quietly.
And Harry, his eyes brimming with tears of anger and humiliation, stumbled forward to kneel in front of Voldemort.
“Undress me,” he commanded. Unsure of which was worse ---Ginny’s horrified face, or Voldemort’s sadistic grin--- Harry looked down at his hands, which were fumbling over the clasp in front of him. He had barely completed the task when Voldemort leaned forward, cupped Harry’s chin in his hands, and whispered, “Now … kiss me, Potter.”
No. It wasn’t possible. There was no way that Harry could possibly do … that. He couldn’t initiate something like that …. But he had to. Voldemort wanted him to do it. He had no choice, but he couldn’t, jut couldn’t…!
And so without allowing himself any more time to think, Harry acted without thinking at all - he leaned forward and hastily pressed his lips against Voldemort’s mouth. The latter let out a contented sigh as he forced Harry’s mouth open with his own and brought his hands to either side of Harry’s face. Harry felt himself dip backward as he did so, and he let out an involuntary gasp as Voldemort’s tongue touched his own. Ginny’s screams echoed around the room, as, steeling himself, Harry pushed back against his enemy’s lips, hopeful that this would encourage him to hurry up and just get everything over with.
When at last Voldemort drew back, Harry chanced a glance at Ginny - a big mistake. Tears were cascading from her eyes and down her face, and she was dangling limply now, not even bothering to fight anymore. Their eyes met for a fraction of a heartbeat, and then she turned her face away, unable, it seemed, to look at him any longer.
Only when Voldemort’s cold, white fingers caressed his cheek lightly was Harry able to turn back to him again. The look on his face was almost too much for him to bear.
“Mmmm,” he sighed, leaning forward to capture one of Harry’s nipples around his lipless mouth. Harry stifled a moan as he felt his foul, forked tongue lick him there softly. Voldemort’s thin, cool hands were pressed against his back, stroking him gently, but deliberately. It became increasingly difficult for Harry to keep his lips pressed firmly together, especially when Voldemort bit down, forcing Harry to flinch unconsciously. Voldemort paused and turned his snakelike face up to Harry’s face, eyes dancing with delight.
“But of course,” he said quietly, “You are eager to touch me, Harry. I can sense it. You need not hold back on my account.”
After three years, Harry knew a command when he heard one. As Voldemort leaned back to rest against the throne, he reached out and ran his hands down the Dark Lord’s chest, and Voldemort, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s, let out another sigh and brought his own hands to Harry’s face, tracing the outline of his lips lightly before pushing a finger inside. Rather than protest, Harry continued to move his hands across Voldemort’s body, trying to avoid any sensitive points; the Dark Lord liked to take his time, and would not at all be pleased if he came too early.
Damn, how had he become so good at this? At being a perfect little whore?
Voldemort laughed coolly, and Harry knew at once that he knew exactly what he was putting Harry through. His hands withdrew from Harry’s mouth and, instead, rested upon his shoulders.
“Now then,” he said, “Let’s put that talented mouth of yours to work.” And he pushed Harry to his knees.
Of course he knew what had to be done. If ever Voldemort was going to fulfill his end of the bargain, Harry had to. And so, hating himself, he leaned forward, opened his mouth, and touched the tip of his tongue to Voldemort’s cock before taking the whole thing in, nearly gagging as he did so. He could feel wetness seeping from Voldemort’s prick and onto his tongue as the putrid taste of the thing overwhelmed him. But he couldn’t back out now, too late ---
He extended his tongue and began to lick around the shaft, willing himself to think about anything --- anything! --- else, to keep his mind off of the taste and smell, off of what he was doing, what Voldemort was making him do ---
Fingers entwined in his hair, and nails dug into his scalp. Voldemort let out an audible hiss of delight as the suction from Harry’s mouth brought him closer and closer to his climax.
“Wait.” Harry paused as Voldemort pulled him off of his cock, his hands still fisted in his hair. “More of the tongue, Harry. You know how I enjoy it. Don’t hold back --- dear Ginny’s life depends on this, after all.”
Harry retched as Voldemort guided him back onto his cock, but soon he found himself licking every inch of flesh he possibly could, hoping ---praying--- that this would suffice for him. He knew from experience that the Dark Lord could control his own responses much more effectively than he ever could for himself --- he would ensure that he got exactly what he wanted before he came. Harry tried to ignore the hideous, musky scent as he pressed the tip of his tongue inside the slit, just as Voldemort had done to him on countless occasions. He willed himself not to shudder as Voldemort let out another hiss above his head, and instead began to move more vigorously, wanting everything to just be over already, unsure if he could last another minute before the taste of him became too much to bear ---
And then, finally, Voldemort threw his head back and let out a cry as he filled Harry’s mouth, and Harry shut his eyes as tightly as he possibly could, swallowing everything at once, unable to bear the taste of it for even a second.
Voldemort held Harry fast, his cock still pressed against his throat, and he sighed deeply as his erection wilted. Tears streamed from Harry’s eyes as he struggled to remain motionless, but his throat was dry and he could not breathe, not with Voldemort still inside his mouth, and when he did try to breathe, he gagged on the foul smell that flooded his nose.
At last, Voldemort’s grip on his hair slackened, and Harry drew back to take in great gulps of air.
“Now,” Voldemort said, seizing Harry’s wrists, “Stand --- good, very good --- and stand still, pet. Quite still.”
He placed Harry’s hands upon his own shoulders before bringing a hand to rest upon the small of his back, and the other to Harry’s arsehole.
Harry bit back a cry as a finger pressed inside of him, and there was a smile on Voldemort’s face as another one entered as well, then another, and he was deep inside now, forcing his arse open, spreading him as Harry had never been spread before. Every time a knuckle met the bare flesh of his arse he had to prevent himself from screaming; how could it be this intensely difficult, after all this time, for him to endure this invasion?
Ginny’s whimper from the corner reminded him why, and this time, as four fingers pressed inside and struck that horrible spot deep inside of him, he groaned audibly. Voldemort chuckled coldly, and Harry’s nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, the sounds of Ginny’s cries piercing him more cruelly than the fingers ever could.
“Open your eyes.”
It was the hardest thing Harry had done all evening, but he managed to open his eyes and look directly at Voldemort, his hands still clenched on his shoulders.
“Come, my pet.” And Harry found himself drawn onto Voldemort’s lap at once, and the head of his enemy’s prick was pressing into him, slowly, viciously. A whimper escaped Harry’s lips as Voldemort slid inside, and, after three years of daily fucking, the burning pain was more terrible than it had ever been before, but Harry had to endure it, had to give Voldemort his pleasure, for Ginny’s sake ---
Hating himself more than anything, Harry opened his mouth to allow Voldemort to kiss him once more, as deathly cold hands on his hips guided him on his cock. Harry groaned against Voldemort’s lips with every thrust, unable to do anything but let his tongue claim his mouth and feel the agony of that cock ripping him open.
And he screamed as he felt the wetness of Voldemort’s spunk fill him, as their lips broke apart and Voldemort himself let out a scream of his own, as Ginny’s shrill cry echoed all around the chamber, as Harry felt that, surely, the world was over; if only he could just slip away---
He was not afforded even this small gift.
Harry collapsed in a heap at Voldemort’s feet as the latter stood up, and turned to face Ginny.
“My dear,” he said icily, “I do hope you can appreciate the significance of what you have witnessed. Such a pity that you shall never experience it for yourself.”
He turned to face his Death Eaters. “Bring her back to her dungeon. Quickly.”
Harry raised his head to see two hooded figures approach Ginny, who began to writhe and scream.
“N-no!” he cried. “Y-you said---”
“That I would let her go free,” Voldemort said pleasantly, “I never did indicate, however, exactly when I would do so, Harry. In fact, I plan to keep Miss Weasley here for quite some time. Though, of course, no one shall be allowed to touch her. Unless, of course, you decide to violate the terms of our bargain.”
Harry trembled with rage and horror as, with the sound of Ginny’s screams echoing behind him, Voldemort drew him to his side and whispered, “Now … let’s really see how you can use that tongue of yours.”
Title: The Conquering
Author: lily_phoenix731
Beta: Anonymous
Pairing/s: Harry/Voldemort, some Draco/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): AU, Slash, Non-con, Oral, Anal, Torture, Dark, BDSM, Slavery, Language, Humiliation ... all that good stuff.
Length: 7,400
Summary: AU. Lord Voldemort enjoys the spoils of his victory ... “There is no escape, Harry,” he hisses, his lips at Harry’s ear. “You are mine.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: --
The Conquering
One: Defeat
It had been nearly a month since the end of the war. One month since the Dark Lord’s forces had penetrated Hogwarts’s defenses. One month since Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Luna Lovegood, and countless others had perished in the battle that had followed. One month since Lord Voldemort had brought Harry Potter to his knees.
It had been then that Harry had first welcomed death. He felt foolish for ever expecting such an easy end, when he remembered that moment in the weeks that followed. The moment when Voldemort had announced his plans for Harry Potter in the new world order.
“This boy,” Voldemort had said, “will henceforth serve as a reminder to all of what fate awaits anyone foolish enough to oppose me further.”
And then, Voldemort had secured a collar around Harry’s neck.
Harry had once served as a beacon of hope for the resistance against Voldemort. Now, he was kept alive to serve as a different type of beacon entirely. He was to be used as a warning signal, to maintain submission in Voldemort’s domain.
**
Voldemort established Hogwarts as the center of his regime, which, although it came as no surprise to him, still distressed Harry immensely.
The one place Harry had once seen as his only home now had become his own personal hell. Even during the very worst days of his education there, Harry had still been able to depend upon comfort from Ron and Hermione. But now …
Harry supposed he ought to be grateful for the fact that his two friends had managed to escape with their lives. It had, after all, been Harry’s last desperate act, the very last choice he had been able to make ---the decision to force his friends to flee with their lives despite their cries of protests--- before the Resistance had collapsed before him.
The knowledge that they were still fighting, as Harry knew they would be, kept him from giving in himself.
**
Harry shudders as he feels the long, cold white fingers of his enemy caress him gently. As he screws up his eyes against the building pain in his scar, he hears Voldemort murmuring in the familiar hiss that Harry knows to be Parseltongue. Suddenly, he feels scaly skin gliding over the flesh of his stomach as Voldemort bends over to kiss him.
And then, all Harry knows is the taste of what could only be death as Voldemort’s tongue invades every inch of his mouth. He struggles fruitlessly against the ropes binding him, and Voldemort laughs.
“There is no escape, Harry,” he hisses, his lips at Harry’s ear. “You are mine.”
“No,” Harry gasps, “never.” He strains harder than ever against his bindings, knowing it will do him no good. Voldemort laughs again.
“Oh yes, Harry,” he says softly, “Always … and forever.” Forever …
Harry forces back a scream of horror and pain as a finger enters him, working him open. Voldemort’s eyes are upon him as he works, and a smile is upon his lipless mouth as he pushes a second, third, and fourth finger inside of Harry.
“Scream for me."
No. Harry bites his lip, but refuses to look away as Voldemort violates him. And he
refuses to scream. He will not allow himself to become a victim.
“Scream.”
The fingers are removed. Voldemort clutches Harry’s ankles and forces his legs upwards, so that they rest upon his shoulders.
“Scream, Harry.”
Harry has to choke back a sob as something hot and hard is positioned against his entrance. A smile is curling Voldemort’s mouth.
He plunges inside.
It takes nearly every ounce of strength Harry has to prevent himself from crying out. Voldemort thrusts himself inside even deeper this time, grunting with pleasure.
Tears stream from Harry’s eyes as he takes it, as he watches Voldemort watching him, as he holds back every single cry, moan, and gasp of agony that threatens to burst forth with every thrust. He can hear Voldemort groaning above him, hissing in a fit of ecstasy.
“Scream, Harry Potter.” Voldemort raises his wand.
And then Harry is screaming, harder and louder than ever before in his life, as he feels the Cruciatus Curse hit him. He convulses violently, as the excruciating pain of the curse mingles with every one of Voldemort’s thrusts, which suddenly become more frantic and vigorous.
“Yes, Harry Potter, yes,” he is yelling wildly.
The curse subsides as Voldemort comes inside of him. He bends down to kiss Harry once more.
“I win,” he whispers against Harry’s shuddering lips, “I win."
*~*~*~*
Two: Three Years Later
After nearly three years, Harry’s routine had hardly changed at all.
He was awakened from an uneasy sleep every morning by an elf, promptly at seven-thirty; it was the elf that untied his ankles and wrists from the bedposts of the bed, where he was securely bound every evening before. He was then allowed ten minutes to bathe, before being dressed in robes of Voldemort’s choosing and being sent to off to breakfast with him.
Today, Harry has been given fine, silk black robes with a green trim around the collar. He dressed in silence. He then allowed the elf to guide him from his bedchambers, which had been Gryffindor Tower until Voldemort’s regime had established Slytherin as the only permissible Hogwarts House and thus rendered it obsolete, and down to Voldemort’s chambers, which had previously been Dumbledore’s office. If Harry had not been inside Dumbledore’s office so many times before, he never would have guessed that it was the very same place. What had once been a warm, inviting room, with books and portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses covering the walls, and a large highly polished desk covered with various curious objects, now resembled a cold, dark lair. Voldemort always kept the heavy green curtains drawn, so that the only source of light came from the candles. The entire room was covered in black and green drapery, all adorned with serpents. Even after three years, the shock of finding this room, rather than Dumbledore’s old office, behind the large oak doors had not subsided.
Voldemort was seated, as usual, behind the long black table that had replaced Dumbledore’s desk, with Nagini draped around his shoulders. He inclined his head ever so slightly, and Harry took that as a sign to sit. At once, a plate of food appeared before Harry. Voldemort watched him as he ate, tenting his fingertips and smiling that disgusting, self-satisfied smirk that Harry so despised. When at last he had finished, Voldemort spoke.
“Well, then, my pet, if you are quite finished, we’ve a busy day ahead of us.” He rose from his chair and approached Harry, his red eyes glowing with anticipation. “Some rather important matters arose late last night that must be attended to.”
Harry looked up with the slight sense of trepidation that he had grown accustomed to feeling on occasions such as these. He knew the look Voldemort was giving him only too well; it was the look he had worn on the night that he had stolen Harry’s virginity.
After breakfast, Voldemort was usually in the habit of bringing Harry to his rooms to “make use of his services”, as Voldemort put it.
Today, however, Voldemort led him through the dark passageways of the school, which, like the Headmaster’s office, were now completely unrecognizable beneath the ornate serpentine decorations that adorned the walls. Apparently, he had something special planned for him. Although he could not see his face presently, Harry was sure that Voldemort was still wearing that damn smirk upon his face. Three years later, the sight of that smile twisting the Dark Lord’s face still managed to inspire a passionate hatred inside of Harry.
Upon reaching the entrance to the dungeons, Voldemort’s intentions became apparent at once.
The dungeons presently served as the new regime’s torture chambers. It was also the place that Voldemort had taken Harry the first time he had taken Harry publicly. So Harry reckoned that was what Voldemort had in mind for today.
He was right. Partially.
**
Hooded and masked, the Death Eaters had formed a silent circle around the perimeter of the room. The moment Voldemort entered the room, every single one of them fell to their knees. The Dark Lord strode, almost lazily, toward the throne at the center of the room. He waved his wand, causing a leash to appear out of thin air and coil itself tightly around the collar at Harry’s neck. Once seated upon his throne, Voldemort tugged at the leash, so that Harry stumbled, and collapsed at Voldemort’s feet. A few Death Eaters chuckled appreciatively.
“Sit here, at my feet, Harry Potter,” Voldemort whispered, his smile more pronounced than ever. “Where you belong.”
Treatment such as this was nothing new to Harry, of course, but he remained wary as he positioned himself accordingly. From the looks of things, nearly all of the Death Eaters had been summoned. Oh great.
Then Voldemort spoke.
“Welcome, all,” he said. “Many of you, of course, are already aware of last night’s events. For those of you who are not aware as of late, I assure you, they are indeed cause for celebration.”
He looked sideways at Harry for a fraction of a second before continuing.
“Last night, at precisely two o’clock, the Resistance attempted a coup at the Ministry in London.”
At these words, a smattering of gasps and titters emerged from the circle of listening Death Eaters. Harry’s heart skipped several beats as his breath hitched in his throat. He knew at once what had happened, even before Voldemort confirmed his fears with his next pronouncement.
“Of course, the coup failed miserably. Not only were they completely unaware that Hogwarts, not the Ministry, is the center of my grand new world order, but they also failed to properly assess the security of the building. The coup attempt was crushed completely a quarter of an hour later, and a member of the Resistance was captured.”
The Death Eaters surrounding him began murmuring excitedly. Eyes fixed unblinkingly on Harry, Voldemort whispered his instructions to the Death Eaters:
“Bring her in.”
**
The door on the side of the chamber burst open. Four more Death Eaters trudged inside, dragging a resistant prisoner in with them.
It was Ginny.
“No!” Harry cried, at the sight of her. He started toward her, impulsively, all of his pride and control forgotten, but Voldemort just laughed and dragged him backward, into his lap. Harry knew his efforts were futile; the damn collar was charmed to prevent hasty actions such as this. He could already feel it constricting against his neck, working its horrible magic; next second, every muscle in his body seemed to loosen, and all of the energy in his body seemed to dissipate. Voldemort seized his wrists and pulled him close, so that his lips were at Harry’s ear. He chuckled softly.
“My, my, Harry, how quickly you seem to have forgotten your place!” he said quietly, as he grabbed a hank of Harry’s hair and pulled his head back, the long fingernails digging into his scalp painfully. Under normal circumstances ---well, as normal as circumstances could be --- Harry would have been horribly ashamed. He always strived to keep his responses under control, and this lack of restraint had just destroyed everything that he had worked so hard to achieve for the past three years. But the sight of Ginny before him drove all thought of dignity from his mind presently. “Place her here, before me,” he ordered the Death Eaters, who did as they were bidden at once.
“Well, now,” Voldemort said, almost casually, as he gazed down at the one girl Harry had wished, with every fiber of his being, he would never see again. “Who would suspect that your precious friend would fall right into my very lap, my pet?” He raised one of his long white fingers and began to trace the contour of Harry’s face gently.
The face that stared back at Voldemort was pale and determined; any fear Ginny may have felt was absent from her expression, which only registered anger and defiance.
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime to him, Harry was terrified. He had long
ago given up on the wonderful idea that Voldemort’s regime could possibly be defeated. Since then, he had become nearly desensitized to the endless stream of brutality that he was forced to endure on a daily basis. But suddenly, the emotion that Harry thought he could never feel ever again seemed to reignite in the pit of his stomach, the moment Ginny was dragged into the chamber.
Voldemort faced the prisoner at his feet.
“Fool, did you truly think that you could possibly overthrow the new wizarding order? Were you really naive enough to believe that I would allow such a thing to occur?” he said dangerously. “No, of course not; after three long years, you still remain deluded enough to maintain false hope of a better world, led by Mudbloods and blood traitors and other worthless scum. However, I do not deny that I am pleased to have seen this coup occur. It can only serve to reinforce the truth to you, and the entire world: Resisting this regime, resisting me, is futile. And, of course, you may finally see what has become of my pet.”
Voldemort grabbed the end of the collar, dragging Harry’s head completely backward, and plunged his tongue furiously into his mouth.
As Harry made to resist him, the collar around his neck constricted again, and all of the muscles in his body seemed to slacken once more. All Harry could do was sit there, forced into unendurable passivity, as Voldemort began to kiss him harshly, with his hand holding Harry’s head firmly in place and his tongue pressing against every inch of his mouth. Harry moaned despondently, desperate to escape, but it was no good; his limbs simply would not obey him. This fucking collar! Harry thought frantically, as Voldemort began to suck on Harry’s lower lip, tugging at it, emitting a soft noise of pleasure as he did so. He felt teeth brush against his lip and then, without warning, Voldemort bit down harshly. Harry let out a startled, strangled cry; he felt blood gushing from his swelling lips as Voldemort continued to kiss him fiercely.
After what seemed like hours, Voldemort withdrew, his expression triumphant.
“Well, well, this certainly will be a great deal of fun!” he laughed coldly. “We are all in for a rare treat, are we not, my pet?”
And suddenly it was like the past three years had never even happened. The numbness Harry had become so accustomed to, so dependent on, was gone completely, as if it had never existed in the first place. The past three years had drained him of his capacity to fear, to care, to think. He had lost any sense of morality that he had possessed; it had not mattered, not in this hell. All Harry held on to was the notion that he simply could not allow himself to beg, to scream, to show any pain whatsoever. His entire existence, he had come to realize, was merely a test of his endurance, an exercise in tolerating pain. He could not hope for a release from this life of misery. Without the ones he loved, it had been easy, in time, to forget his life and everything he had once held so dear to his heart. With no real contact, no connection to anything but pain and death and emptiness, the fear he felt for his friends’ safety had been replaced by a dull sense of ignorance. But the knowledge that he could have possibly forgotten everything ---Ginny, with her bold gaze, and her daring nerve, and her glorious, flowery aroma, oh, how could he possibly have forgotten, Ginny…!--- inspired a sense of shame and guilt the likes of which Harry had never known before.
He felt like an eighteen year old virgin again: terrified of what the future held in store for him, and for the girl he cared for. How could the Resistance have been so reckless, so stupid? Why had they brought this horror upon him?
“Who was responsible for her capture?” Voldemort said to the room at large; it was Lucius Malfoy, in his low, drawling voice, that answered.
“My Lord,” he said at once, “The Resistance was found only five minutes after the Resistance forces entered the Ministry. The prisoner was quickly subdued by a group of your dedicated servants --- Bellatrix, Zabini, my son, and myself.”
“Excellent,” Voldemort said, grinning. “Well, then, I think it only fitting that you and your fellows should be the first ones to have her.”
And suddenly, Harry knew what was going to happen.
And there was nothing ---nothing!--- that he could do.
**
“I suppose you are wondering why I haven’t just killed you, Harry,” I whisper to the boy.
It is a lovely sight - his wrists, magically bound, are wrapped around my neck, and my naked form is pressed against his. It is a beautiful perversion of sensuality. The boy does not deign to offer me a response. Long ago he gave up on his pitiful attempts to subdue my desire for his flesh. Rather, he now lays quiescent, striving to suppress his own responses to me.
Of course, I am well aware of the boy’s intentions. I therefore reach over and pinch one of his tender nipples harshly. Now I feel him shudder slightly, though he does not cry out.
I continue:
“It is quite simple - why give up such a delicious prize? You, my boy, are quite an exquisite token indeed.”
Again, the boy does not reply. This amuses me greatly; does he truly expect to ease his suffering by defying me? No, no … this simply will not do.
I flip him onto his backside and proceed to bite the tip of his nipples, as roughly as I dare.
His breathing itself ---full of repressed misery, anger, and shame at once---- is simply orgasmic. Already I can feel myself growing hard.
“Tonight, Harry Potter, you will learn the true beauty of pain.”
I study the boy’s face carefully, so as to detect, if any, his reaction to this. Only his eyes reveal any indication of fear, yet this is the only confirmation I need.
I hold the boy’s cock for a few moments, relishing the feeling of it in my hands and the slight tensing of his muscles, before I go to work. I place both hands against the sides of his shaft and he gasps as I begin to stroke him up and down, my movements slow and calculated. A few moments pass, before the boy’s blood betrays him, and his prick is stiffening in my hands. I smile. Encouraged, I pull back the foreskin on the head and insert the tip of my finger inside the slit there, eliciting a deliciously feeble moan from him. As I cup his balls and begin to squeeze there as well, his breathing becomes faster and less controllable.
Then, I dip down and swirl the tip of my tongue on the head of his cock. The boy’s hands curl into fists; he bites his lip; he closes his eyes. But he does not scream.
However, he does grow harder. Oh yes, as courageous and bold and self-righteous as he is, the boy cannot manage to subdue himself in my presence. That is when I part my lips and engulf his entire prick in my mouth, tongue still sweeping across him furiously. The erratic breathing that comes from the boy as a result of my efforts wind my wanton desire to an even higher pitch.
Then, as I swallow his cock once more, I plunge a finger inside his arsehole.
Immediately, I can feel the boy react. Tenser than ever, his body betrays him more brutally than I ever could; his climax builds steadily, until nature can no longer be denied.
I withdraw seconds before he comes, spurting wildly in all directions. A moment later, I come as well; my seed splatters all over the boy’s face.
Yet, he still is not screaming.
By the end of this night, he will be.
*~*~*~*
Three: Ginny
A month after the war had ended, Harry found he could endure the physical pain of penetration. He could stand being tied to a four-poster bed every evening. He could deal with Voldemort’s taunting, with the constant burning of his scar, with the searing pain of knife’s blade as it sliced open his bare flesh …
He found that he could endure this pain because he was subjected to it every single day.
But he could not endure this.
He could not stand to watch as Bellatrix Lestrange, Blaise Zabini, Lucius Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy sauntered forward, lowered their hoods, and seized Ginny, binding her arms to the suspension bar above her head.
But he had to.
He had to, because Voldemort was grasping the collar around his neck firmly, with his other hand holding his wrists, now bound together with a thick length of rope, behind his back. He had to, because he was completely helpless to stop it.
**
The boy is writhing beneath me, and his convulsions are sending me into a frenzy. I feel as if I may come right on the spot, just by the very sound of his tormented screams.
**
The Death Eaters considered Ginny thoughtfully, looking at her naked form hungrily.
“She’s still a virgin,” Draco said at once, in a voice of immense contempt and disgust. “There’s no possible way any man could have fucked this blood traitor, I’d stake my life on it.” He smiled maliciously. “Either way, I was the one who caught her. I want to be her first.”
“No!” Harry cried out at once. “No, no, don’t you FUCKING dare, Malfoy --- if you so much as TOUCH her ---”
The chamber was full of the Death Eaters’ laughter.
“Oh, but I shall be touching her Potter,” Draco said lightly, turning to face Harry. “I’m going to touch her in every single imaginable place, and then, I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to tear her open, and you are going to watch it all.”
Voldemort laughed cruelly.
“Very well, Draco,” he said pleasantly, “You may proceed.”
**
Every cry, every grunt, every quiver the boy makes that intimates the extent of his agony seems to impart to me this knowledge: That I, Lord Voldemort---
**
It was worse than Harry could have possibly imagined.
Draco was cupping Ginny’s breasts with his hands, his eyes fixed on her face. He began to tweak, and then pinch, her nipples gently with his fingers, his movements slow and deliberate. Ginny was biting her lip, refusing to grant him even the smallest whimper, the slightest indication that he was getting to her. Then, Draco lowered his head, and within seconds, he had captured her left breast in his mouth. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat as she withheld a gasp, just as Draco began swirling his tongue upon her nipple. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing; but then she felt Draco’s teeth bite down. Hard.
Ginny let out a small whimper --- the first sound Harry had heard from her lips in over three years. “Ginny…” he moaned helplessly.
“Don’t speak, my pet,” he heard Voldemort whisper in his ear. Before Harry knew what was happening, Voldemort had raised his wand; with a lazy flick, Harry’s robes had vanished completely, leaving him completely naked. “Just enjoy the display.” And, to Harry’s horror, he began to stroke his own nipples slowly. No! Harry thought harshly, No, I won’t let you get a reaction out of me for this, not for her ---
Draco’s hands were all over her body now, caressing her slowly, as if staking his claim upon every inch of her flesh. His hand gravitated down to her thighs, and Ginny let out a cry of pain as his finger parted her. Draco chuckled softly as he brought his lips to her ear.
“So you are a virgin, after all, you little bitch,” he whispered harshly. “Saving yourself for Potter, then, were you?” He allowed his finger to sink inside more deeply, laughing maliciously as she let out another cry. “How pathetic.” Then, the finger was withdrawn; Draco had stepped back. He kept his eyes concentrated on her own as he, very slowly, began to disrobe.
Voldemort began to stroke Harry’s nipples more fervently, his breath growing more ragged now. And, to his distress, Harry felt his cock twitch pleasurably at his ministrations. No! he thought to himself desperately, as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the blood out of his prick. No, don’t, no, stop, don’t, don’t ---
Then, a sharp cry rang through the chamber. Harry’s eyes flew open.
Ginny’s hands had been untied from the bar above her head. Blaise Zabini was holding her hands behind her back as she was forced into a kneeling position. Her head was positioned directly in front of Draco, who was holding his swollen cock in his hands. He grasped a handful of her long red hair and guided her head to his groin, so that the tip of his member brushed against her lips.
“No---” Harry tried to say, but he couldn’t breathe. And, as a mixture of fear and abhorrent pleasure constricted his lungs, Draco stuffed his cock into her mouth. Ginny let out a muffled cry as he began thrusting in and out, with his head thrown back, his eyes closed tightly, his breathing erratic.
That was when Harry felt wet lips upon his him. Voldemort was trailing kisses along the flesh of his neck, sucking lightly as he went. He could hear Draco moaning with pleasure --- Ginny grunting and choking every time his shaft grazed the back of her throat, making her gag --- the circle of Death Eaters howling with laughter --- and the sound of Voldemort suckling his neck …
Draco had withdrawn, his cock still hard and throbbing. Ginny had bitten down, causing him to shriek with pain; he smacked her, hard, across the face, banging the back of her head against the cool chamber floor. Temporarily dazed, Ginny laid quiescent on the ground, as Draco repositioned himself, this time against her entrance, his eyes fixed on hers.
“You’ll pay for that one, you little cunt,” he growled.
“No!” Harry had finally gathered enough breath to speak. His yell echoed in the chamber all around him. “No, you sick FUCK Malfoy, no, don’t, you --- don’t -- you ---”
“Harry …” It was Ginny. Her voice was weak, quiet. “Harry, please don’t ---”
“I love you,” he breathed desperately, just as he felt Voldemort’s hand tighten around his own cock, and Draco thrust himself inside of her.
The sound of Ginny’s screams mingled with sudden, ungodly pleasure as Voldemort began to squeeze Harry’s shaft mercilessly. Harry tried, with all of his might, to block out the intense feeling of ecstasy building in his crotch, but he could not focus. All he knew was that pleasure and pain were one in the same for him, as he felt his climax approach beneath Voldemort’s fingers and Ginny’s screams.
And then, Harry came. His seed spurted out in all directions as he let out a furious howl of shame.
**
---have, truly, won.
“I win.” I whisper triumphantly against the boy’s shuddering lips. “I win.”
*~*~*~*
Four - Bargain
It was as if it were the very first day of his enslavement, all over again. The torture of seeing Ginny’s virginity stolen away from her as Voldemort pleasured him was too much to bear as he was dragged away, back to Voldemort’s chambers.
**
“Kneel.”
Harry had heard the same instruction before for nearly three years. For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, he found himself unable ---no, unwilling--- to obey.
“You bastard.” Shaking with rage, Harry could not prevent the words from escaping his lips. “You - sick - fucking - BASTARD.”
But Voldemort merely laughed. A second later, his wand was raised, and Harry felt himself being pulled inexorably toward him, the chain around his neck constricting mercilessly. In an instant, Voldemort’s lips were at his ear, hissing.
“I’d almost begun to think you had abandoned that sense of resistance, Harry,” he murmured, his voice full of barely disguised hunger. “Oh, tonight will be a delight, my pet, I assure you.”
**
It has been so long since I have had such pleasure. For the first time in two years, the boy is fighting me; he is struggling, spouting as many epithets as he can think of.
How I’ve missed this.
With his ankles bound and his wrists secured in tight cords behind his back, I push him forward so that his chest is pressed against the hearth rug by the fire and his arse is perfectly positioned in the air. I lean over to whisper into his ear.
“You are going to scream for me tonight, Harry Potter.” In that instant, I know that the boy is going to do everything in his power to prevent this.
My fingers graze the tip of his cock. I feel him shudder as, even through his misery, he begins to react.
“You see, Harry?” I say, as I peel back the foreskin and slip my fingernail into the slit, eliciting yet another shudder of pain and pleasure, “You simply cannot deny your body, boy. You love it every time I touch you, every time I make you come against your will…”
“No,” he says weakly, as if he actually hopes to fight me off, “no---”
“Oh yes, Harry,” I reply; with that I being to pump the length of his prick and, despite it all, he stiffens in response. “Look at how you’re already hot and hard for me, you little slut. Try as you might, you cannot deny that we are a part of each other, Harry. You cannot deny that every time I fuck you, you scream with delight. You love it when I bury myself inside you and claim your body, when I fill you up so completely …”
“You … sick … twisted … fucking ---” the boy can barely speak. I spare him the trouble of forming the words and push a finger deep inside of him. He moans.
“That’s it,” I say, as I begin to push in and out, coaxing open that taut ring of muscle, “spread for me.”
A minute later, I can feel the tears sliding down his face. I bend over to lick them slowly away, and he shivers.
“Spread your legs,” I command.
“No,” the boy manages to stammer.
“Spread them, Harry.”
“N-no.”
“Spread your legs!”
His resistance is intoxicating, and the need to take him becomes unbearable. I force his legs apart with my legs and, seconds later, I push my cock deep inside of him.
The boy cries out as I begin to fuck him. With every thrust, he shudders; tears are falling shamelessly from his eyes now, and I know he is thinking of the girl. I smile.
“To think --- tomorrow we may see my faithful Death Eaters do the very same” --- another thrust inside, another moan from the boy--- “to the girl. You would enjoy that, yes?”
“No---!” the boy cries out, angrily now. I thrust inside once more, and he winces horribly as he all but collapses in despair.
“Of course --- I could be convinced the spare her the indignity of facing my Death Eaters.” I remain still inside his arse, allowing the weight of my words to penetrate. But he does not move.
“What --- do you want?”
I grin. Even now he cannot put his own personal dignity above the welfare of his friends.
“Everything. Your body, you mind, your soul … your complete obedience, Harry.”
“What -- what are you going to do to G --- to her … if I agree?”
“I will allow her to go free if --and only if-- I am satisfied that you have submitted to my will and surrendered yourself to me completely. Of course, this will require --- a test. A test of your devotion to dear Ginny.” The boy shakes beneath me as I say her name. “If I find that I am satisfied, I will let her go free back to her family.”
I can practically hear the boy’s internal struggle as he takes in the meaning of my words. Then ---
“Will you promise -- to let her go if I … if I do it?”
“I shall. But---” I grin more broadly now, “You must continue to do exactly as I wish, Harry, long after she is freed. Are you sure you are willing to surrender yourself to every single one of my desires, for the rest of your life --- merely for the life of a girl?”
There is a pause before the boy responds. “Yes.”
“Very well then.”
And with that, I thrust back to him again, and as the boy cries out in pain and misery, I come vigorously inside of him.
**
It’s the only way.
That’s all Harry could keep telling himself, as he was led slowly toward the dungeons by two Death Eaters, the following day. The plain black robes that Harry had been ordered to wear for the occasion were thin and ragged; light as silk, they hardly prevented the cold of the dungeons from penetrating his skin, so that Harry found himself shivering by the time they reached the door to the inner chamber.
He felt himself slam to the cold floor of the dungeon room as the nearest Death Eater pushed Harry carelessly forward at Voldemort’s feet. There is a cold, appreciative chuckle at this.
“Stand up, Harry, and remove your robes. Let everyone see that body of yours.”
It came to Harry as no surprise that he would be forced to endure this in front of the Death Eaters, of course, but the prospect of performing for them still remained as intimidating as ever. Shaking a little, Harry shrugged the robes off smoothly, and let them drop to the floor to reveal his naked form.
“NO!” cried a terrified voice from the corner. Harry froze.
Ginny.
He looked up, and there she was - as bruised and beaten as ever, she was chained up against the wall in a far corner of the room, struggling wildly against her bonds. “No! - Harry, DON’T!”
With all the effort he could muster, Harry forced himself to turn away. Back toward Voldemort’s leering face.
“Come,” he said quietly.
And Harry, his eyes brimming with tears of anger and humiliation, stumbled forward to kneel in front of Voldemort.
“Undress me,” he commanded. Unsure of which was worse ---Ginny’s horrified face, or Voldemort’s sadistic grin--- Harry looked down at his hands, which were fumbling over the clasp in front of him. He had barely completed the task when Voldemort leaned forward, cupped Harry’s chin in his hands, and whispered, “Now … kiss me, Potter.”
No. It wasn’t possible. There was no way that Harry could possibly do … that. He couldn’t initiate something like that …. But he had to. Voldemort wanted him to do it. He had no choice, but he couldn’t, jut couldn’t…!
And so without allowing himself any more time to think, Harry acted without thinking at all - he leaned forward and hastily pressed his lips against Voldemort’s mouth. The latter let out a contented sigh as he forced Harry’s mouth open with his own and brought his hands to either side of Harry’s face. Harry felt himself dip backward as he did so, and he let out an involuntary gasp as Voldemort’s tongue touched his own. Ginny’s screams echoed around the room, as, steeling himself, Harry pushed back against his enemy’s lips, hopeful that this would encourage him to hurry up and just get everything over with.
When at last Voldemort drew back, Harry chanced a glance at Ginny - a big mistake. Tears were cascading from her eyes and down her face, and she was dangling limply now, not even bothering to fight anymore. Their eyes met for a fraction of a heartbeat, and then she turned her face away, unable, it seemed, to look at him any longer.
Only when Voldemort’s cold, white fingers caressed his cheek lightly was Harry able to turn back to him again. The look on his face was almost too much for him to bear.
“Mmmm,” he sighed, leaning forward to capture one of Harry’s nipples around his lipless mouth. Harry stifled a moan as he felt his foul, forked tongue lick him there softly. Voldemort’s thin, cool hands were pressed against his back, stroking him gently, but deliberately. It became increasingly difficult for Harry to keep his lips pressed firmly together, especially when Voldemort bit down, forcing Harry to flinch unconsciously. Voldemort paused and turned his snakelike face up to Harry’s face, eyes dancing with delight.
“But of course,” he said quietly, “You are eager to touch me, Harry. I can sense it. You need not hold back on my account.”
After three years, Harry knew a command when he heard one. As Voldemort leaned back to rest against the throne, he reached out and ran his hands down the Dark Lord’s chest, and Voldemort, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s, let out another sigh and brought his own hands to Harry’s face, tracing the outline of his lips lightly before pushing a finger inside. Rather than protest, Harry continued to move his hands across Voldemort’s body, trying to avoid any sensitive points; the Dark Lord liked to take his time, and would not at all be pleased if he came too early.
Damn, how had he become so good at this? At being a perfect little whore?
Voldemort laughed coolly, and Harry knew at once that he knew exactly what he was putting Harry through. His hands withdrew from Harry’s mouth and, instead, rested upon his shoulders.
“Now then,” he said, “Let’s put that talented mouth of yours to work.” And he pushed Harry to his knees.
Of course he knew what had to be done. If ever Voldemort was going to fulfill his end of the bargain, Harry had to. And so, hating himself, he leaned forward, opened his mouth, and touched the tip of his tongue to Voldemort’s cock before taking the whole thing in, nearly gagging as he did so. He could feel wetness seeping from Voldemort’s prick and onto his tongue as the putrid taste of the thing overwhelmed him. But he couldn’t back out now, too late ---
He extended his tongue and began to lick around the shaft, willing himself to think about anything --- anything! --- else, to keep his mind off of the taste and smell, off of what he was doing, what Voldemort was making him do ---
Fingers entwined in his hair, and nails dug into his scalp. Voldemort let out an audible hiss of delight as the suction from Harry’s mouth brought him closer and closer to his climax.
“Wait.” Harry paused as Voldemort pulled him off of his cock, his hands still fisted in his hair. “More of the tongue, Harry. You know how I enjoy it. Don’t hold back --- dear Ginny’s life depends on this, after all.”
Harry retched as Voldemort guided him back onto his cock, but soon he found himself licking every inch of flesh he possibly could, hoping ---praying--- that this would suffice for him. He knew from experience that the Dark Lord could control his own responses much more effectively than he ever could for himself --- he would ensure that he got exactly what he wanted before he came. Harry tried to ignore the hideous, musky scent as he pressed the tip of his tongue inside the slit, just as Voldemort had done to him on countless occasions. He willed himself not to shudder as Voldemort let out another hiss above his head, and instead began to move more vigorously, wanting everything to just be over already, unsure if he could last another minute before the taste of him became too much to bear ---
And then, finally, Voldemort threw his head back and let out a cry as he filled Harry’s mouth, and Harry shut his eyes as tightly as he possibly could, swallowing everything at once, unable to bear the taste of it for even a second.
Voldemort held Harry fast, his cock still pressed against his throat, and he sighed deeply as his erection wilted. Tears streamed from Harry’s eyes as he struggled to remain motionless, but his throat was dry and he could not breathe, not with Voldemort still inside his mouth, and when he did try to breathe, he gagged on the foul smell that flooded his nose.
At last, Voldemort’s grip on his hair slackened, and Harry drew back to take in great gulps of air.
“Now,” Voldemort said, seizing Harry’s wrists, “Stand --- good, very good --- and stand still, pet. Quite still.”
He placed Harry’s hands upon his own shoulders before bringing a hand to rest upon the small of his back, and the other to Harry’s arsehole.
Harry bit back a cry as a finger pressed inside of him, and there was a smile on Voldemort’s face as another one entered as well, then another, and he was deep inside now, forcing his arse open, spreading him as Harry had never been spread before. Every time a knuckle met the bare flesh of his arse he had to prevent himself from screaming; how could it be this intensely difficult, after all this time, for him to endure this invasion?
Ginny’s whimper from the corner reminded him why, and this time, as four fingers pressed inside and struck that horrible spot deep inside of him, he groaned audibly. Voldemort chuckled coldly, and Harry’s nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, the sounds of Ginny’s cries piercing him more cruelly than the fingers ever could.
“Open your eyes.”
It was the hardest thing Harry had done all evening, but he managed to open his eyes and look directly at Voldemort, his hands still clenched on his shoulders.
“Come, my pet.” And Harry found himself drawn onto Voldemort’s lap at once, and the head of his enemy’s prick was pressing into him, slowly, viciously. A whimper escaped Harry’s lips as Voldemort slid inside, and, after three years of daily fucking, the burning pain was more terrible than it had ever been before, but Harry had to endure it, had to give Voldemort his pleasure, for Ginny’s sake ---
Hating himself more than anything, Harry opened his mouth to allow Voldemort to kiss him once more, as deathly cold hands on his hips guided him on his cock. Harry groaned against Voldemort’s lips with every thrust, unable to do anything but let his tongue claim his mouth and feel the agony of that cock ripping him open.
And he screamed as he felt the wetness of Voldemort’s spunk fill him, as their lips broke apart and Voldemort himself let out a scream of his own, as Ginny’s shrill cry echoed all around the chamber, as Harry felt that, surely, the world was over; if only he could just slip away---
He was not afforded even this small gift.
Harry collapsed in a heap at Voldemort’s feet as the latter stood up, and turned to face Ginny.
“My dear,” he said icily, “I do hope you can appreciate the significance of what you have witnessed. Such a pity that you shall never experience it for yourself.”
He turned to face his Death Eaters. “Bring her back to her dungeon. Quickly.”
Harry raised his head to see two hooded figures approach Ginny, who began to writhe and scream.
“N-no!” he cried. “Y-you said---”
“That I would let her go free,” Voldemort said pleasantly, “I never did indicate, however, exactly when I would do so, Harry. In fact, I plan to keep Miss Weasley here for quite some time. Though, of course, no one shall be allowed to touch her. Unless, of course, you decide to violate the terms of our bargain.”
Harry trembled with rage and horror as, with the sound of Ginny’s screams echoing behind him, Voldemort drew him to his side and whispered, “Now … let’s really see how you can use that tongue of yours.”