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Shooting Star

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A shooting star. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished, wished this could all be over and he'd wake up to Mrs Weasley waking him up for breakfast. Or even Hermione shaking him awake or Ron playing some kind of prank on him.

The chain pulling him along the dirt path was tugged sharply and Harry nearly fell, stumbling a bit before he barely caught himself. The cuffs around his ankles and wrists were too tight, but he wasn’t about to complain. He would've before, but after one too many Cruciatus Curses, Harry found there was no point.

Voldemort had won the war, and that was that. Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasley family were all dead now. The Order had been found and its members killed one by one, everyone else was forced into hiding, Voldemort's minions on a rampage of evil. Harry had barely escaped that raid before he too was found, and tortured, before the leader himself said he was too important to be killed just yet. That he would make a much more valuable prize.

And so, Harry was pulled along the path, his body sore and tired. But not broken. Not ever.

They led him into one of the old stone circles that dotted the landscape of England. A large number of robed figures ringed the inside of the circle. Torches lit the proceedings. Someone had embedded a pole into the ground at the centre and he was marched up to it. They attached his chains to bolts at the top of the wooden pole. Harry's wrists were bound above his head to the post and his ankles shackled with about a two foot length of chain between them.

Harry wouldn't give them the satisfaction of looking at any of them. He stared straight ahead, past their cloaks and out at the sky, hoping to see another star.

Lord Voldemort was seated in a kind of wooden throne to one side. Someone cast a spell and the sound of a deep, slow drum beat filled the night. One of the robed figures detached itself from the circle and came to kneel in front of Voldemort, who gestured toward Harry.

Harry felt a sharp pain in his scar, and it made him squeeze his eyes shut, his head turning away from Voldemort. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, not wanting to show it. He wasn't planning on living too long anyway.

The robed figure stood and approached Harry, a wicked looking knife in one white hand.

It was the glint of the knife that made Harry finally look. A gasp started and died in his throat, his body tensing up. So this was how he would die. He glared at the mask of the Death Eater, wanting no more than to pull the knife away from the Death Eater and then use it on the Death Eater, then Voldemort, then himself.

Robed and masked, the figure stood before Harry and reached for his throat with the other hand.

Harry tried to cringe away but masked man was too fast. The hand reached, but instead of taking hold of his throat, grasped the front of his t-shirt, pulling it tight.

"Don't touch me," Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

The figure used the knife to slice down the front of the shirt and then finished by ripping it open and away so that Harry's chest was exposed to the firelight.

Harry's heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. "I said don't touch me," he repeated, beginning to struggle. "Stop," Harry gasped, "stop ...."

Long white fingers reached again, grabbing Harry by his overgrown dark hair with one hand and pressing the knife to his throat with the other.

In that moment, Harry wondered what it would feel like to die. Would it be painful, but quick? Or would it be like a slow torture until his heart finally stopped beating?

Would he even die now? Harry didn't know. A part of him still hoped he would live and that it would heal and scar up, like the litter of scars Harry had all over him from the various spells during the final battle. He could live with scars.

But then the other part of him wanted to die, wanted to feel the cool metal of the knife move across his neck, quickly killing him. It seemed he didn't have a choice in the matter, however. The figured shifted the knife so that the point, not the blade’s edge, pressed into Harry's flesh, and then, still holding him firmly, drew it slowly down his flesh. Red welled in its wake.

Harry bit his lip hard so he wouldn't make a noise, but he felt the burn of the knife and then the warmth of his own blood. He shuddered. The point continued down, making a jagged line down the centre of Harry's torso until it came to the waist of his jeans. The drum beat continued to pound in a rhythm like a heart beat, though slower than Harry's at this point. Then the figure brought the knife up and stabbed forward, plunging it into the pole behind Harry.

Harry jumped at the sound, swallowing thickly. It took him a moment to notice that he was still alive, only a long cut down the middle of his body. He wasn't sure if it would scar, or even if he would be alive long enough for it to.

Blood dribbled down Harry's chest, soaking into his jeans. The hand in his hair released him roughly, pulling him back as he did, so Harry was off balance. Then the long fingers of both hands were unbuttoning his jeans.

"No, stop it," Harry mumbled, trying fruitlessly to struggle. He refused to give in or die without a fight.

Once the top button was undone, the white hands tugged, yanking so hard the zipper broke and then pushed and pulled Harry's jeans and shorts down to his ankles where they tangled around the shackles. Harry stood exposed before the assembled Death Eaters, blood now dripping into the hair at his groin.

Even after everything, Harry felt his face redden, in both anger and embarrassment. Why couldn't they just kill him and be done with it?

The figure's white hand reached again for Harry's hair, holding tightly while the other went to his throat, sliding down over the new wound, coating the pale hand in dark blood.

Harry gasped, trying to jerk away from the hand, feeling completely tense. It hurt and it made his heart beat faster.

The hand tightened painfully in Harry's hair, while the other one continued down his chest, his belly and then slid blood covered fingers over Harry's cock.

Harry's eyes opened at the touch. He jerked his hips as hard as he could, his body protesting. He would not let this happen.

Slick fingers caressed his flesh – gently, teasingly. The hand in his hair twisted, keeping Harry's face toward his tormentor.

Harry shook his head as he felt himself begin to harden. His body betrayed him.

Those long fingers expertly worked his flesh, squeezing and stroking. The masked figure was focused entirely on Harry, looking directly at him, body close so that robes brushed against Harry's skin.

Harry felt himself tremble, the unwanted pleasure moving throughout his entire body. He knew it wouldn't take much more for him to come, but he didn't want to.

There was a deep chuckle as Harry's cock hardened and twitched. It was the first sound from his tormentor. The hand kept stroking Harry, twisting on and squeezing his flesh.

"Stop," Harry whispered so only he could hear him, "don't want this ...."

"But my Master does," the voice drawled. Then after a pretty strong squeeze, "And so do I." That deep chuckle again as the hand released Harry's cock, only to slip downward, fondling his balls.

Harry jerked again and he tried to hold back, tried as hard as he could, but he began to come before he could stop it, crying out.

"Too soon, Potter," the voice hissed, sliding his hand up to coat it in Harry's come as well.

Harry trembled, angry tears welling up in his eyes. "It's done, now leave me alone," Harry murmured, shaking his head.

"Oh, your pleasure may be done," the voice purred, "but I am not yet satisfied."

"Then kill me," Harry said, looking up to glare at him.

"That would not bring me nor my Master enough pleasure," the voice sneered. "You have caused quite a lot of trouble and need to be punished first."

"Why don't you go fuck your Master since you're so bloody loyal to him!" Harry yelled.

His tormentor chuckled again, slick fingers sliding over Harry's cock again. Harry heard words “Voluptas Cruciata” whispered in Latin and then felt his cock stir again.

Harry gasped, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. "What did you do?"

"Magic, Potter," the voice sneered, hand sliding back down Harry's erection, making sure Harry felt how sensitive he was now.

Harry whimpered. He was hard again, and it hurt; it was so all too sensitive.

His tormentor released Harry then, stepping back and laughing. "Turn around," he commanded.

"No," he murmured weakly, not even sure he could if he wanted to.

The figure advanced again and roughly shoved Harry until he was facing the pole. The shackles and pants kept Harry's legs spread, leaving his backside on display. He didn't want to think of what was going to happen next.

Harry heard the words Candens Flagellum, then a loud crack behind him and something sharp and stinging snapped across his back. He jumped and cried out in surprise, his eyes going wide. When he looked back over his shoulder, his tormentor was holding a wand and there was a long glowing white strand dangling from it. He flicked it and the strand struck Harry again, pain as white-hot as the strand.

Harry cried out again, turning away and closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. He tried to brace himself for the next hit, but he couldn't tell when it would be. The hot white lash fell repeatedly over Harry's back, buttocks and thighs until his body felt like it was on fire. Throughout it all, his magically aroused cock remained hard and even seemed to pulse in response to the pain.

Harry was shaking uncontrollably, tensing with every strike. They were coming so quickly Harry didn't get the chance to relax before he was hit again. His lips were trembling, but he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.

After what felt like forever, there was a sudden pause as the blows no longer fell. The drum beat had picked up, pacing the blows and still kept up its staccato as Harry panted. He groaned softly, resting his forehead against the post as he fought to catch his breath.

The figure stepped up to Harry again, running a hand down the tortured flesh of Harry's back and buttocks. A gesture that might have been comforting in other circumstances was made painful as it inflamed the strips of damaged skin. Harry cried out as he tensed again, the touch sending sparks of pain throughout his body.

Then the hand withdrew and Harry felt fabric brush against the back of his legs as the robed figure stepped up close. He heard the man chanting a spell then, “ Ego servum meae voluntati ligo …

Harry mumbled a few unintelligible things under his breath. He felt hands graze his sore backside and then those hands were spreading the flesh of his arse open, exposing him. Harry moaned weakly, not able to understand what was being done to him. He felt the hands and the pain, but he didn't understand.

Then there was the feel of flesh sliding along the crevice of Harry's arse. That made Harry open his eyes again, quickly looking over his shoulder.

That chuckle again as the head of the man's cock slid down until it pressed against Harry's hole. The man didn't enter him yet but waited there, fingers tightly holding Harry in place as he did.

"Don't do this," Harry cried out, trying to push him back and away. Anything but this.

"Why not?" that cold voice replied, still waiting.

"I'd rather die," he whispered, biting his lip again.

"That's for later, Potter," the voice promised. "When I have had enough of you."

Harry wished he could concentrate enough to use some kind of wandless magic, but in this state, he was too weak.

"I enjoy your struggles, Potter," the man sneered, rubbing the pre-come slick head of his cock in a circle against Harry's opening. "I am going to fuck you now and, if you are lucky, as many times as I can," he growled.

“No!” Harry yelled, panicking and pulling on the chains.

The “no” seemed to encourage his tormentor and the man pushed into Harry then, not fast, but relentlessly slow and steady. Harry cried out as he clenched, trying to push him back out as another more intense pain started. "Hurts," he whimpered, shaking his head.

The man held Harry's hips tightly, pushing in until Harry could feel the clothed body of the other man against his sore flesh. Apparently, the only thing uncovered was the man’s hands and now his cock.

Harry didn't notice he was crying until he tasted the salt of his tears. His entire body felt like it was on fire, though it was an entirely different kind of fire he felt in his cock. The spell was doing something to him, forcing him to feel pleasure even while he was in pain. Every spike of pain seemed to make his erection throb harder.

The man was pressed against Harry's back now, and Harry could feel the other man’s breath on his neck. "You are mine now, Potter," he whispered harshly, "after this ceremony you will belong to me, to do with as I please for as long as I please my Master." Then he flexed his hips, thrusting into Harry.

"I'll never be yours," Harry managed to groan, trying to block everything out.

The man began to thrust in time with the drum, each tearing pain sending jolts of pleasure to Harry's cock as his tormentor moaned in pleasure.

Harry tried to stay quiet, but the combination of pain and pleasure had him moaning, too.

"Yes, I know you want to scream," the man raping him taunted. "Do you even know if it is pleasure or pain that you are feeling?" The thrusts sped up now, the drum beat matching him.

"I won't," Harry said quietly, biting his lip hard to prove his point.

The man was gasping in Harry's ear now, pounding his flesh into Harry. "This isn't over until you scream, until you come so hard you can't help but cry out," the man explained.

Harry moaned loudly thinking about it finally being over if he just let go.

"You want me to keep fucking you like this," the man said, laughing. "You are such a slut, Potter. You like knowing a hundred people are watching you take it up the arse."

"Shut up!" Harry yelled.

"Yes, you always did flaunt yourself, didn't you?" the man sneered still, panting as he spoke. "And now you have an audience who are going to watch you come as I fuck you."

"I won't," Harry insisted, even as he felt his body begin to tremble as he was brought closer to that edge.

The man was panting loudly now, thrusting faster and harder, the beat of the drums faster, too. "Yes, Potter, yes," he gasped. "Fucking mine now!"

"Not yours, never yours," Harry whimpered. But then he was screaming as his orgasm finally ripped through him, making him arch sharply.

Harry's tormentor cried out with him, growling as he filled him with his seed, pumping his hips until they were both spent and panting. There was a final sound of the drum just as they came so that both their cries echoed in the still night.

Harry rested his forehead against the rough wood of the pole, not believing what just happened. His throat felt raw and his eyes burned with tears.

The other man's hands slid up Harry's body, one encircling his waist and the other gripping that thick dark hair again, pulling so Harry's head was bent backwards. He spoke directly into Harry's ear. "The ritual was complete when you came with me inside you," he said. "The Potestas Domini Spell binds you to me as my slave, for as long as you live."

"I don't believe you," Harry whispered.

"I can literally command you now," the man drawled. "I own you, body and soul. If you don't do what I say or if I don't fuck you every day, the pain you will feel will be like the Cruciatus Curse." The man licked Harry's ear then.

Harry cringed, still not believing him. "I'll never obey you, ever. No matter. I'd rather be in pain."

The man chuckled again. He pulled back, his cock slipping from Harry's body, blood and come trickling down Harry's legs. The man spent a moment tucking himself back into his robes.

Harry sagged against the pole, his eyes closing. He was exhausted and his body throbbed in pain.

"Harry Potter," the man said, voice pitched to carry around the circle. "Stand and face your new master."

Harry ignored him, refusing to obey. But as he stood there, a sharp pain sliced through his body, ripping another cry from him. It went on, like a thousand knives were stabbing him over and over.

There was laughter around the circle now. "Do as I command and the pain will stop," his tormentor said.

Harry was openly sobbing as he forced himself to turn around, the pain beginning to dim when he did.

The Death Eater facing him stood with his hands on his hips, watching him through the mask. He withdrew his wand from his robe and flicked it, casting a spell and the chains fell from Harry's wrists and ankles.

Harry reached up to rub at his face, ashamed of his crying. Blood from his wrists ran down Harry's arms. His entire body felt sticky with blood, sweat, tears and come.

"Potter, kneel before your master," the man commanded.

Even through the haze of pain Harry could see the glint of the knife that was still embedded in the pole. He grabbed at it and pulled as hard as he could, turning around to lunge. His trousers were still around his ankles and he stumbled.

The man had not expected that. He moved to catch Harry falling, not seeing the knife. Harry managed to slice through the robe and into soft flesh before the man cried out in pain. Harry felt the same pain lance his chest at the same time. Harry cried out, too, the pain making him lose his concentration. They fell backwards and Harry pulled at the knife, crying out again as it came free.

There was a gush of blood and the man's hand rose automatically to the wound trying to stop the flow. "Bloody hell, Potter," he complained, rolling off him.

Harry's hand pressed against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of the knife. But there was no blood.

The man was trying to sit up, but was clearly in pain. There was muttering among the assembled Death Eaters. "Help me up, you git, or we are both dead," the man hissed at Harry.

Harry got up after a moment, already in too much pain to risk rebelling again. He reached for the man’s hand and tried to pull him up, groaning as his muscles protested.

With Harry's help, the man managed to get to his feet. One hand still holding his wound, he raised his wand. "Kneel, Potter," he snapped.

Harry got down on his knees, but didn't look up at him. His chest still throbbed, but he said nothing.

The man mumbled a spell then, apparently a Healing Spell because the wound glowed for a second and then Harry's chest stopped hurting as well. "Look at me," he insisted.

Harry forced himself to look up. The man backhanded him so hard Harry's face stung, and he fell to one side. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he ignored them, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"It would not be wise to challenge me again," the man said coldly, looking about the circle.

Harry looked up at him again, wiping away the bit of blood from his lip. "It's funny how you can't even do anything without the approval of your master ... " Harry said, his voice rough and raw.

"How can you still be such a naive prat?" the man whispered. "Say nothing to anger him," he commanded.

Harry opened his mouth to say more, but bit his lip to stop himself, damning the bond he had been forced into.

"Potter, pull your trousers up," the man snapped. "Then crawl after me, stay on your knees and don't speak until spoken to."

Harry thankfully pulled his shorts and jeans up, ignoring the pain as the clothes brushed against the welts on his arse.

The man waited, fingers tapping impatiently for Harry to re-clothe and drop back to his knees.

When he was done, Harry slowly got back down on his knees, wincing a bit.

The man nodded and turned toward Lord Voldemort, bowing slightly from the waist. His Master acknowledged him, waving him forward with a bony hand. Then the Death Eater walked slowly to his master, trailed by Harry.

Harry didn't want to follow, but with the risk, he had no choice. As they got closer to him, Harry's scar began to prickle again, making him stop so he could press a hand against his forehead.

Lord Voldemort seemed to find this amusing, laughing. Harry's tormentor knelt too, just out of arms length of the seated Dark Lord.

Harry was rubbing at the scar, feeling as though it was trying to split open. The worst part was that he hated showing this weakness to everyone.

"Well, Malfoy, you have done well," Voldemort hissed. "Do you like your reward?"

Harry glanced up sharply at that, his eyes narrowing at the man next to him. He thought Lucius Malfoy was killed during the war, but apparently he wasn't, and now he was going for revenge. Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself not to do anything yet.

The Dark Lord laughed, a slithering sound. "So, Harry, you are now a bound slave. Give Malfoy what he wants and we let you live a little longer," he said.

"I'd rather die," he murmured, glaring at Malfoy.

Voldemort laughed. "Ah, but you lost, Harry. You have lost everything. To the victors go the spoils. Malfoy asked for you and I am inclined to reward him, for now."

"Thank you, my lord," Malfoy said. "May I take him away now?"

Harry didn't say anything, his hands clenching into fists. He did lose, but that didn't mean he was just going to sit back and let this happen.

"I suppose you can entertain us more with him again at a later time," Voldemort hissed. "You are dismissed."

Malfoy stood then, laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, gripping him with long fingers and Apparated, taking the other man with him to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor.

Harry looked around where they landed, his eyes narrowing again.

"Stand and strip," Malfoy snapped.

"You already saw me naked," Harry scowled, but got up anyway and began removing his clothes.

"And you will remain unclothed as long as it pleases me," Malfoy snapped.

"What about what I want?" Harry asked.

"What you want no longer matters, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "You lost and you are my slave to do with as I please."

"I'm only doing this because I'd rather not be in pain," Harry mumbled, stepping out his clothes. His body was still throbbing with the various cuts and welts, and he was exhausted.

"And I am doing this because I enjoy your pain," Malfoy replied coldly. He looked into a mirror on the wall, seeming to study that mask. "Do you know who I am?" he asked quietly.

"Malfoy," he murmured.

"Brilliant as ever," the man retorted.

"That is who you are, right?" Harry snapped, glancing back at him.

"That's my surname," Malfoy said, turning away from the mirror and looking down at Harry again.

"Lucius," Harry said, looking up at him.

The man hissed at that. "Your friends killed Lucius Malfoy," he said coldly.

Harry thought so. But then the only other Malfoy ... his eyes widened as he looked at him. "No ... you're not ...."

The man reached up and waved away the Mask Spell and let the hood fall back, revealing his hair and face.

Harry gritted his teeth at the sight of Draco Malfoy. "Draco Malfoy?! I thought .... No, let me go." He moved to get up, to get away, not wanting to be owned by Draco Malfoy, of all people. Lucius was an easier thought to handle, but his son? No.

Draco's eyes narrowed in anger. "You would rather my father?" he growled.

"I wouldn't rather any of you," Harry yelled, managing to get to his feet, only to fall back down as the pain spiked through him.

"You are an imbecile, Potter," Draco snapped. "Don't you get it? No one gives a fuck what you want anymore. You are not the Chosen One! You were defeated!"

"That's not true!" he moaned, trying to sit up again.

"Your friends are dead, all of them!" Draco shouted, fingers curled into fists.

"Shut up ..." Harry mumbled.

"I told you, Potter," Draco sneered, "you will never again tell me what to do. On your knees, now!"

"But I didn't," he whispered, slowly getting down on his knees.

Draco began stripping out of his robes, letting them fall to pool on the tile floor. His pale body was more muscular than it had been at school, the years having filled him out more. But the scars left by Harry in sixth year were still there, along with a new angry red one from earlier that evening.

Harry only glanced up at him for a moment, before he moved back a bit.

"Look at me," Draco insisted.

Harry looked up at him. "I didn't ... really," he murmured.

"You told me to shut up, fool," Draco snapped. "Look at what you did to me. You've never seen your handiwork before, have you?"

Harry looked at the scars on Draco’s chest. "I didn't know the spell would do that!"

"And is that supposed to make it better?" Draco sneered. "You are so reckless you cast a spell when you didn't even know what it would do?"

"It said use on your enemies," Harry said quietly. "I didn't know there would be so much blood ..."

"Typical," Draco snapped. "You think you can do anything with impunity. Well, now you are going to pay the price for what you did to me and my family." Draco scowled, anger shining in his eyes. "My parents are both dead and now you will pay."

"I didn't kill them," Harry said.

"You will pay. I won't debate this with you," Draco snapped, reaching to grab Harry's hair again and dragging him forward.

Harry tried to move with him, trying to relieve the pain in his scalp as he was pulled.

"Suck me," Draco ordered, pulling Harry's face in front of his half-hard cock.

Harry shook his head, even as he felt the pain of disobeying making him tremble. He didn't even know how to suck a cock. He’d never done it. Or much else, for that matter.

Draco’s hand twisted in Harry's hair.

Harry cried out softly, and leaned forward, opening his mouth and closing his lips around Draco’s cock. He sighed as the pain lessened, but the task still had to be done.

"Yes, suck me," Draco said again, watching Harry through eyes darkened with anger and lust.

Harry tried to ignore the taste of the blood mixed with something else, and focused on sucking him. It was all he could do not to gag.

Draco growled, using Harry's hair as a handle and thrusting into his mouth.

Harry did his best to keep up with him, breathing harshly through his nose. He wanted to cough every time he felt the other man’s cock touch the back of his throat, but he couldn't and he wasn't going to try and push him away.

Draco thrust, growling as he did. "Yes, Potter, suck it," he gasped, tone harsh as he came with another growl.

Harry started coughing then, trying to pull back so he could breathe properly.

Draco held his cock inside Harry's mouth until he was spent and then shoved the man away.

Harry fell to the side, coughing up the other man’s come and spitting it on the floor.

"I should make you lick that up," Draco sneered.

Harry didn't answer, breathing hard and trying to force himself not to throw up.

Draco snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared. The creature fell to its hands and knees immediately. "Master," he said. "These clothes are to be incinerated," he said to the elf.

Harry looked down at his hands; they were filthy with dried blood and dirt. The rest of his body felt the same way, sticky and soiled, but apparently, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"So the rules are that you will be naked and kneeling at my feet unless I say otherwise," Draco said. "I will use you as I like when I like. Please me and you will be allowed to bathe and eat. I would prefer to leave you filled and covered in my seed. But, I suppose you would smell bad if I didn't let you clean up, not to mention staining the carpet."

Harry closed his eyes then, a tear running down his cheek.