It's the lights, first of all. A dozen or more of them bursting out wide from every direction, so bright in their many colours that he thinks at first it's a battle, reaches for his wand—
No wand. His hand clutches bare skin, and it's then that the chill in the air hits him. It hits him all over, just a wintry breeze making every hair stand on end every time it passes over him; that and tight bands of leather around his neck and wrists. It comes back to him then, and his knees sag, only to be jerked upright by a tug on his collar. Above him trees tower: pines and firs, black spikes of silhouette against a sliver of moon.
"No, let him kneel," a voice calls from the other side of the lights. "All the better to serve you." There's a ripple of laughter to follow, and a kick to the back of his legs. This time his captor lets him reach the ground and his knees judder on hard paving slabs. A thin shell of ice cracks under the pressure, makes him slip a little as he falls.
It must have been freezing here, and it should be at this time of night. It's Christmas Eve, for fuck's sake. There must be some sort of charm or spell over the clearing. Maybe that's why they've never found any of these gatherings on their patrols.
Not until they wanted to be found.
"What do you say, Potter?" A sharp nail runs down James's face, but it's Narcissa's voice that makes him shiver. "Are you ready to serve me?"
"Never." James clenches his jaw tight to stop his teeth from chattering. They can see his body, but they won't see fear. He can deprive them of that, whatever they're going to do to him. He tenses, expecting a blow, or maybe a kick. He wishes his hands were free, wants to wrap his arms around his ribs, maybe get a hand over his groin.
What he gets is the last thing he expects.
"Very well." Narcissa sighs, a long drawn out affair. "If you're going to be tedious, I suppose we had better let Lucius show us what his new pet can do.
When one of the lights blinks out and Lucius tugs a naked redhead into the brightly lit clearing, that's when James starts shouting.
"Last chance, Potter," Narcissa says when Lily has been safely removed to the edge of the clearing once more. "Are you ready?"
Lucius carefully pushes a long tress of Lily's hair back over her shoulder, taking great pains to make sure James sees his fingers linger over her breast. The words still catch in his throat, because it's too much, it's too— they can't really do anything to him, to Lily, can they? They've always known there was a risk of capture, but what's going on here? This sort of thing doesn't happen. They'd have heard about it. Dumbledore would have warned them, someone would have said. Wouldn't they?
Lucius's hand runs down Lily's smooth flesh, and even though she struggles she can't stop his hand pushing down between her thighs. Her eyes are wide, glinting in the bright lights, and he can see Lucius twist his hand as if he's, as if his fingers—
"Yes!" he gasps, and his heart gives an extra thud as he sees Lucius's hand stop.
"Then kindly look at me, and not my husband." Narcissa's hair brushes against his face as she leans down to whisper in his ear, and her fingers wrap around his cock. They feel like more of a threat than a promise. "Unless you'd prefer him to do this?"
He could get Lucius's hands away from Lily, take away the threat. But only if he's prepared to have Lucius's hands on him, touch him like Narcissa is now, presumably. Maybe touch him inside, maybe fuck him. He's not a complete innocent, he knows that sort of thing happens. Anyone who has Sirius Black for a best friend has few mysteries left to uncover when it comes to sex, and it's fine if everyone's having fun.
He's never thought about doing it himself, but even if he had, he can't imagine that having Lucius do it to him at any time would be pleasant. Lucius being anyone's first would be—and that's the point really, isn't it?
"No," he says, shame thick in his throat. "I'll do whatever you say. Just don't hurt her. Don't let him—"
Narcissa's fingers tighten on his cock. "Then you'd best put on a good show, Potter."
He doesn't know much about Narcissa, but at Hogwarts she always seemed distant and haughty. He's never suspected her of a theatrical flair, but the way she sweeps her robes aside to reveal some sort of elaborate harness makes him wonder what else she's been hiding.
When he sees what's attached to the harness, he wishes he hadn't.
Even if he wanted to look at Lily, the circle of lights is complete again. Fewer of them, he thinks, but he loses count when he tries to check, because they keep moving, flashing on and off, but never long enough for him to see past any of them now.
He can't work out what Narcissa's cock is made from, not even when he tastes it, but his mouth grazes against leather when he sucks it all the way down. Leather straps seem to be bound around its girth, maybe fastening it to the harness. The edges are scuffed where his lips bump against it; not new then, and he chokes at the thought of where it might have been before.
"Enough," Narcissa orders, but it's nowhere near enough, and James is nowhere near ready, not if she's really going to do this.
"Stand up and turn around." Her wand waves a circle in the air, and he has no choice but to follow where his collar pulls him. He catches a glimpse of her lounging back against the stone table before a sharp tug on the collar pulls his head down almost to his knees.
"Lean back," she tells him, and when he hesitates there's a sharp swoosh of movement and a thin stripe of fiery pain lashes across his backside. It catches him off balance just enough for him to fall into position, something hard and unyielding pressing against him, pushing a little way into him, and he realises then that he hadn't really thought she would do this. It was all a mind game wasn't it? A bit of humiliation, maybe leave them out here without their clothes, scare them a bit. But that's all. The rest of it, well. People don't do that sort of thing.
Except that apparently they do.
"Fuck yourself on my cock," Narcissa says, lazy and amused now, as if this is a standard evening's entertainment for her and not the most insane thing anyone has ever asked another person to do. "I want to see it all the way inside you. Unless you want to see Lily on it instead. Mmm, that would be delicious, perhaps I should call her over, and--"
She breaks off to laugh when James pushes back quickly. He feels a flush cover him from cheeks to toes when he realises it's going to be difficult, works out that he has to wriggle, spread himself and stretch up to get the hard, solid tip of the… thing… in what he hopes is the right place. It feels like it, until he presses back and back but nothing is giving, nothing is yielding to let it inside him, it's just there as if it's going to burst through his skin and not between, not inside him. Every movement, every push, brings murmurs and laughter from the spectators, and he wishes they could just be silent so he could forget about them, but he can't even for a second.
More than anything, he wishes Lily wasn't watching this humiliating performance.
Performance, right. Put on a good show, Potter. He can do that. He can do it for Lily, if it will spare her this sort of treatment. He can do it if he has to groan and pant like someone from one of those Muggle films he used to sneak into with Sirius, but he doesn't have to fake the cry he makes when he finally feels the dildo opening him up, because it's big and there's friction and nothing is supposed to go up there as far as James is concerned, and he wouldn't be able to stay silent if his life depended on it, not through this. The noises he makes seem to satisfy Narcissa and the crowd, because even through the haze of pain he can make out grunts and moans from around the clearing.
It's an effort, but eventually something gives way, and the weight of his body does the rest of the work, impaling him on that thick, hard length until he can feel the rough straps of the harness against his skin, and he realises with relief that it's there, he's full.
"Do you like my cock, Potter?" she asks, a coquettish lilt to her voice that makes him want to press his hands around her throat until she creaks out her very last breath. "I think you do. I think you want to tell me how much you like it, don't you?"
It's not as if it can make his situation worse. And there's still the threat to Lily…
"I like it," James forces out, the words squeezed between his clenched teeth. "I like your cock."
"Beg for it then." Narcissa moves just a little, maybe bracing herself more securely against the lump of stone she's leaning on. "Beg me to let you fuck yourself on my big hard cock, Potter. You know it's what you want."
"P-please," James stutters out, because she moves again, and god, god, fuck, he's not sure how he's going to get through this if it's going to be like that, because that was real pain, and from only a tiny movement. He's so close to begging her to stop, that only bringing up the image of Lily, warm and safe, both of them miles away from here, maybe in their own house after the wedding they've already started planning—only that stops him.
He can take a little pain if he still has that future, still has Lily whole, alive, not subjected to something like this. He'd do this a dozen times, take all of them in this clearing right now if it meant she was safe.
He can do it.
"Please, I need it," he says, and he lets his voice break and gasp, doesn't try to control it. "I need you to fuck me—need to fuck myself on your cock, Narcissa, please let me."
"Since you begged so prettily, I think I'll allow it," she says, and it takes maybe every muscle he has in his body to force himself forward, move his hips away from her and let the dildo slide almost all the way out as he rocks onto his toes. It's willpower that he needs to rock back again, and this time it's quick, too quick, and he's filled all the way up with barely a second to draw breath.
He makes to pull away again, but he's barely an inch forward when Narcissa pulls his head up by the collar.
"Oh no, I don't think so," she says. "You didn't ask permission that time." The collar is tightening, and he's vaguely aware of a wand gesture behind him but it's only when he feels it squeeze his windpipe painfully that he realises it's more than just a harsh tug on his leash.
"Please let me," he gasps out, blood pounding in his ears and his throat dry and constricted like he's never known. "I need—I need your cock, need it."
"You may continue," Narcissa says graciously, but her grip remains tight around his throat, not just to threaten his airway, but to help him move back and forth, each time begging permission to be dragged off her dildo and slammed back onto it like a rag doll, over and over.
He's almost as limp as a rag doll too, when she has him kneel up on the stone slab, still bound at the whim of her wand. It's hard on his knees, but at least he can assume the worst is over. Nothing she can do to him now can be more humiliating or painful than the treatment he's already suffered.
Nothing he can think of, in any case.
"Touch yourself," Narcissa commands, and one leather restraint snaps off at the wave of her wand. "I want to see you hard."
The other cuff jerks his arm behind him none too gently. James is sore and aching all over, from the stretch and burn of his arse to the fatigue in his leg muscles from holding such an awkward position for so long, and his cock has long since got over any purely physical response he might have to the stimulation. He's never thought the lack of an exhibitionist streak would be a problem for him, but other than his mates nobody has ever been in the room when he's touched himself, and as far as he's aware none of them were ever watching.
But he's still a teenager, if only just, and problems with erections are usually in the other direction. Until now.
"One minute, Potter," Narcissa breathes close to his ear. "You have one minute to get hard, or we're all going to watch your girlfriend put on a show for us. Lucius has never had trouble getting it up, not even for filthy little Mudbloods."
James tugs frantically at his cock, but can only elicit the faintest of responses. It's warming in his palm at least now, and he tries to think of his bedroom at home, of the safe place he used to have behind his Hogwarts bed curtains—anywhere he'd normally do this without the slightest problem.
"Thirty seconds," Narcissa hisses, and James thinks of Lily's breasts, the soft swell of them he's hardly had chance to get familiar with in the flesh so far, the shadowy place between her thighs where Lucius had stroked her. It has been such a long wait, and to see Lucius's hands there before his had been almost intolerable. He's glad the lights are too dazzling for him to see her.
"I want you hard for me by the time the clock strikes midnight, or you can watch Lucius fuck that little redhead of yours after all. Will you get it up then, boy, when she learns what a real man can do?"
Lily, Lily, he thinks desperately, thinks of her warmth, her scent, her body. She's perfect, and she'll help him banish the memory of this, if not straightaway then over the years. They have a lifetime together, and whatever happens here isn't going to spoil that.
The clock sounds far away when it starts chiming, the clang of bells muffled by distance, and perhaps whatever spell the Death Eaters have cast over this empty space. On the strike of twelve, his hand is yanked away from his cock and slammed behind his back. His cock, thanks to willpower, the extra warmth of his hand, and maybe the coarse words falling from Narcissa's prim little lips, is hard.
"Adequate," Narcissa sniffs, and there's a titter from their audience. "But only just."
That doesn't stop her pushing him back on the cool stone slab, or lifting up her robes. It doesn't stop her climbing up, straddling him with her ice white thighs to ride him, hard and fast, until he has no choice but to come, gasping and bucking, underneath her.
Somehow, that's the most humiliating thing of all.
There's a moment when he thinks they aren't going to make it. Why stop at humiliation, coercion… his mind shies away from any other words that might be appropriate. He's not ready to think about that. Or maybe they won't kill them – maybe they will use Memory Charms, because how can they let them go after this? Don't they know James is going to hunt down every last one of them for this, and make them pay?
But there's Lily, and there are their clothes, and the Death Eaters are gone in a flash or ten, along with whatever was protecting the clearing from the elements, because fuck it's a bitterly cold night and they should have been safe at home hours ago.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—" Lily mumbles into his chest. "They didn't—did they hurt you after I, well, they didn't, did they? You're alive, James, you're alive, and I'd have done it all ten times over just for that, you know that, don't you?"
"I know, I know, I— what?" Lily hadn't seen? And what would she do ten times over? Not--
"Don't be cross with me," Lily says, and "It wasn't so bad, not really." That's when he sees. There are bruises, fingertip sized bruises along her collar bone, rope burns around her wrists. "Lucius was—he was over-stimulated or something I think, it was quick. And they would have killed you, James, they would have."
So that was why they'd kept the lights so bright in his eyes. James wonders dimly if the grunts and moans he'd heard—
"But they didn't, and they didn't hurt you badly, did they?" Lily needs him to answer, so he gives the only one he can.
"No, sweetheart," he says, kissing the top of her head. "You saved me."
Every. Last. One.