Entry tags:

au: book 7, fic, rated: nc-17

In the Dark, for stonegrad
Title: In the Dark
Author: impextoo
Giftee: stonegrad
Word Count: 1363
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco, Harry/others
Warnings: DH Spoilers, non con, bondage, bloodplay, implied incest
Disclaimer: I don't own anything so please don't sue me.
Summary: A botched escape leaves Harry at the mercy of the Death Eaters.



The soft sound of a sliding lock and the briefest of flickers in the wards have Harry awake instantly. His limbs are strained and numb, with ankles and wrists against the small of his back and bound together in too-tight rope that razes his skin. Trying to relieve the painful press of his bony hips into the stone floor, Harry shifts. A large, meaty hand grabs him by the hair and twists his head back with a violent, jerky movement.

From his crooked view, Harry can only see slick, oily brown hair and one hazel eye above a faded scar. He doesn't know this Death Eater, only that the man must have accomplished some great and bloody task to Voldemort's liking.

"Skinny piece of filth, aren't you?" the man asks, his breath reeking of boiled cabbage. "Hardly any meat to grab hold of."

The man shoves Harry's head down, nearly smashing his face into the floor. There's the swishing of fabric as the Death Eater walks around him, jabbing his wand at the bindings.

There. Even if it's coming from this dirty murderer, it's still magic and Harry arches into it, aching for the feel of magic against his skin.

The Death Eater slaps Harry's arse hard as his ankles clumsily fall out of their bindings. "Who knew you'd be such a slut?" he chuckles, and again, magic washes over Harry as his knees lurch forward and under him, raising his arse into the air. The man slaps Harry again.

Then there is no more magic, just the sounds of harsh grunting and the slick fwap of the Death Eater's hips against Harry. The quick, brutish fucking crushes Harry's cheek into the stone floor, scraping his face bloody. The man grips Harry's hips in a tight painful hold as he groans loudly, emptying himself into Harry.

The door to Harry's cell bangs open. "Your time's up, Ryker," another man announces. "You better remember the Dark Lord's exceeding kindness in granting you this gift." The Death Eater--Ryker--pulls out roughly. The other man sniffs. "And clean up your mess, unless you want to also be treated to the Dark Lord's displeasure."

A cleaning spell, harsh and painful and wonderfully magical, rakes over Harry. The door slams shut and Harry sighs, angry at himself for longing after a Death Eater's magic and angry at the Death Eater for leaving him with his arse in the air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The wards do not waver or flicker when the Quiet One visits Harry. Whoever he is, he apparently has unrestricted access to Harry's cell. He never is bothered by Harry's keeper about the time or cleaning up. A blinding spell, the Quiet One's sick kink, plunges Harry into darkness every time he arrives.

Harry's never gotten to see the Quiet One.

He's certainly the most considerate of the Death Eaters, if you could bring yourself to overlook the raping of a teenage boy. He always spells up something soft for Harry to kneel on or lie on, and he hasn't yet hit or cut or whipped Harry. He never calls Harry "slut" or "whore" because he never talks when he's with Harry. He even brings Harry to completion every time, even though it took a really long time.

But it is rape. Harry couldn't ever overlook that, would never forgive any of them.

Not even the Quiet One.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco Malfoy has become a sad, twisted shell. He is still a pompous prick, but Harry recognizes a crazed desperation in Draco's eyes that he, Harry, has not yet reached. Harry still hopes. Draco only despairs. Oh, he certainly tries to revel in his superior place in the world. Harry's keeper has a loose tongue and likes to complain to others about the Malfoys' improving favor with Voldemort. But whenever he comes to torture Harry, Draco always chokes and his chin trembles like he's going to start sniveling--like he's the one who is suffering the most. Harry wants to punch him.

Draco sometimes doesn't do anything at all. He just sits beside Harry and idly traces his scar. Harry is pretty sure it's more disturbing than when Draco pulls out his silver knife.

Draco shudders and gasps like clockwork when he drags that uncommonly sharp knife across Harry's chest, leaving behind fine lines that tiny rivulets of blood spring from. Harry knew the blond bully was sick in the head, but he never knew how sick. Draco actually gets off on this, rubbing his hard prick against Harry's thigh, practically humping his leg. Maybe it's revenge for Harry's casting of Sectumsempra. Even without his glasses on, Harry can see pale lines crisscrossing Draco's chest. But Harry doesn't like to think about Sectumsempra or anything that reminds him of Hogwarts or Snape.

It makes his stomach clench and churn and distracts him, and invariably Draco gets his attention by sticking his knife in a little harder and deeper.

Draco might've gotten the scars from his father, might have learned this whole perverted act from him. Malfoy senior is a lot sicker than his son. He likes to watch Draco toy with Harry. Where Draco has got a cornered look in his eyes, Mr. Malfoy watches with hunger in his face. Sometimes he yanks Draco off of Harry and hauls him bare-arsed out of the room. Harry refuses to think about what comes next.

Harry doesn't blame Draco. But he still hates him, for being a smarmy git, for having a shitty family, and for not using even the tiniest bit of magic around Harry.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry hates the Quiet One also, but because he uses magic and a lot of it. Harry doesn't want to give him the impression that he likes what the Quiet One does--he hates it, even if it's not awful by comparison--but the Quiet One's magic feels bloody good and sometimes Harry can't stop himself from arching and twisting for more. It...it reminds Harry of early summer, in the shade of a tree, cool and green and nice. A Death Eater shouldn't be allowed to have magic like that.

The Quiet One has begun to fuck Harry only when he's on his back and his ankles are crossed behind the Quiet One's neck. It's frustrating being blind and magically subdued and fucked at the same time. Harry can't visualize the Quiet One, beyond a vague man-shaped blob with a pretty big cock. Harry gasps as that cock brushes his prostate and his ankles tremble about the man's neck. Warm damp locks brush against Harry's skin and the man blob is given longish hair of a nondescript color.

The fucking is speeding up and Harry's gasping and hot all over. He squeezes his eyes shut--an ineffectual gesture since he's blind as a bat--and suddenly, thin, bony fingers grasp his chin and yanks it upward. Harry blinks at nothingness, uncomfortably aware of how close the Quiet One is to his face. Hot puffs of air hit Harry's face and he sincerely hopes that the Quiet One isn't going to kiss him.

He doesn't.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Shaken awake roughly, Harry opens his eyes to complete darkness. The Quiet One drags him to his feet and Harry nearly embarrasses himself by falling over. It's been ages since he's been allowed to stand under his own power and he can feel tremors coursing through his legs with the effort to stay upright. Something heavy, warm, and fuzzy is thrown about his naked shoulders. Harry fingers the edge of the material. It's a wool cloak, and Harry almost cries at the touch of residual magic in the cloth.

The Quiet One's hands frame Harry's face, tilting it upward. Harry has no idea what he's looking at. The press of fingertips into his skin disappears and Harry hears the rustling of cloth. Glasses, his glasses, are set crookedly on his nose and a wand--oh Merlin, a wand, crackling and just about burning in Harry's hand to cast some spell, any spell--is pushed into his hands.

There is a long stretch of silence and suddenly Harry's vision returns and he's alone in the cell. The door is open and Harry's keeper is sprawled across the ground. Harry can faintly hear the screams and crying from other prisoners and he clenches the borrowed wand, sparks of bright red and gold shooting out.

He still hates the Quiet One.