Chapter 1: Eyes
Draco turned sharply away from the scene before him. He couldn’t block out the screams though, they echoed through the Manor’s lofty rooms. He looked longingly at the door, wishing more than anything that he could leave the room. Leave the manor. Hell, leave the country. It was a worthless hope though. He could not leave, there was no place that he could go where his comrades could not find him. Not for the first time, Draco regretted all the events that had led up to this moment.
It was strangely comforting to be able to think back though, and know that there was not much that he could have done to avoid this fate. Life had him by the balls since birth. He was a Malfoy, a death eater, and a pureblood right from conception. So although Draco didn’t enjoy this spectacle, he didn’t feel too guilty about his presence. Playing the hand he was dealt was not a sin. He wasn’t responsible for his actions, right? Those mud bloods, muggles, and squibs… they were doomed from the second they were caught. Taking part in their tortures, in their deaths, didn’t make it his fault. At least that is what he told himself.
A particularly loud shriek brought him back to the present. Abandoning his dark musings, Draco turned his eyes onto the even darker events unfolding in the middle of his dining room. Some mudblood ministry worker was convulsing on the floor, the target for countless curses from an array of death eaters. The portly man had long stopped begging for his life. He had stopped promising secrets, services, and gold if only they would let him go! The mud blood had even passed the point where he begged for death. Now he just screamed and twitched, his eyes rolled back in his head. Words were impossible, but they would not help him anyways. Draco’s peers were not after his words, just the man’s screams.
Soon the man would stop reacting, they all did eventually. Tortured until their minds and bodies snapped. A few laughs later, and the assembled death eaters would kill him. Once they bored of their sport they will leave his body on the dining room floor for Nagini to inspect. He had eaten cereal here once, Draco thought detachedly.
Draco was so caught up in his despair that he failed to notice a narrowed gaze watching him from across the room. Black eyes peered out of the Dark Lords pale face as he observed the Malfoy heir. Truly, the boy was too young for this company, to untrained. His every emotion flickered across his face. Disgust, longing, desolation… he could read them all. Normally a servant of his with such treacherous thoughts would be unacceptable. Measures would have to be taken. But the boy… Draco… was different. He watched as those innocent grey eyes widened further.
He felt as if he could feel the frantic thumping of the boy’s heart from across the room. Voldemort wondered at how Draco kept his eyes so pure after all he had seen and done. Those whirling depths possessed none of the madness or emptiness that filled the stares of his other servants. Such eyes…
Chapter 2: Mine
Draco laments about his circumstances while, unbeknownst to him, his circumstances get a whole hell of a lot worse.
DISCLAIMER: The only things I own at this point in my life is a pathetic credit limit and a cat that enjoys throwing up everywhere. The Harry Potter universe remains solely in the hands of the wonderful J.K. Rowling.
I’m sorry for the long delay, the university was determined to crush my soul this semester. I just started my vacation, and I will once again aim for weekly updates.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The Hogwarts train would be leaving tomorrow as usual. His mother, in some attempt to cling to their old reality, had insisted Draco be on it. He didn’t understand the point, everything was changing. Once the Dark Lord was in power it wouldn’t matter if he got an Outstanding in potions. He was already a death eater and a pureblood and his position in the new world order was set, for good or ill.
But it would be nice to get out of the manor. It was hardly the welcoming retreat it once was. The stately home had lost the feel of his childhood. All his happy memories in this place had been overwritten by the screams of countless people. Everything that had once made the manor feel like home had been drowned in their blood.
Still, Hogwarts wasn’t much of a replacement. It would be just as dark there. Draco was keeping himself informed of all the changes at the school, and it was not going to be the lighthearted place it once was. Ever since Dumbledore died… no! He couldn’t think of that.
Draco shook his head and threw the shirt he had been folding into the school trunk he was packing. Merlin, the world was doing a complete one eighty and he was expected to spend his time gossiping with his classmates. But at least the Dark Lord would not be at Hogwarts. Draco shuddered again at the thought of the manors newest resident. Over the summer, Draco had noticed more and more often the Dark Lord’s eyes landing on him, but what he was looking for Draco didn’t know.
Giving up on his packing, Draco threw himself face first onto his bed with a groan. Everything was going to hell. And if he failed to pack a backup set of dress robes, well then mother would just have to accept that.
Voldemort sat in the parlor, in one of Lucius’s fine chairs. No doubt this chair was priceless beyond belief, a family heirloom that had seated only the most noble of pure bred wizards for hundreds of years. As he stared at Lucius and Narcissa, Voldemort felt a childish sense of glee. They sat stiffly on the love-seat across from him. No doubt, this chair was normally Lucius’s chosen seat, it certainly was grand enough for the man’s pea-cocking.
“Comfortable, Lucius?” Voldemort hissed quietly, causing the man to shift minutely.
“Yes, my lord.”
The silence stretched for long minutes, Voldemort calmly observing the Malfoy’s growing more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Lucius spoke again.
“You wanted to see us, my lord?”
“Yes, I did. Though it may shock you, Lucius, there is something that you could do for me. Something at which you might actually succeed.”
A heavy flinch from the man. Voldemort could smell his fear: intoxicating. Lucius’s eyes looked panicked now. Funny, Voldemort thought, they were nearly identical to his Draco’s, yet nothing alike. They were weak, and fearful. The eyes of prey hiding from a predator. Not pleasing at all. Voldemort wished he could tear them from his skull, but that would not be conductive to his plans, not at all. Draco would be terrified, and he couldn’t risk that. The boy was nothing like his father, but care had to be taken to ensure that he stayed that way.
Narcissa spoke up for her husband. “We are honored you have chosen us for this task. What would you have of us, my lord?”
Voldemort grinned, causing both Malfoy's to shudder visibly. “It is not so much of a task, Narcissa, as it is an honor. The new world order is coming, and I would hope that the Malfoy family still had ambitions to remain at the top. With my favor, your place would be all but guaranteed.”
The two looked at one another, clearly confused but knowing that the only possible answer was yes. They had fallen far over the years, and the Dark Lords rebirth was hardly shaping up to be as profitable for their family as they had thought. Lucius found his voice again, and nodded at the Dark Lord.
“Yes, my lord, whatever you require of us shall be done. We live only for your cause.”
Another grin. “My cause, Lucius? Your words betray you.”
Silence reigned once more, both Malfoy’s too afraid to speak.
“What I need of you, Lucius, is for you to bring me your son.”
“My son?” Shock erased all fears and doubts, and Lucius met Voldemort's eyes in disbelief.
“Yes, Lucius. You will bring him to me. The boy has potential, and could do great things in my service with the right guidance. Which I am willing to provide. Draco will be under my care. He will be mine.” The Dark Lord hissed possessively.
I always appreciate constructive criticism, comments, or any grammatical errors.
If you have any wishes for the direction of this story or a desire for a specific scene, please let me know. Always welcome. I look forward to hearing from you.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 3: Raven
Voldemort reaches a whole new level of creepy, and Draco begins to wish that he was actually a rock.
Heed the warnings, things get bad.
I am going to apologize right now, I have been reading a ton of Poe's darker works and I feel all icky inside. Some of that crazy is bound to leak into this chapter, so hold onto your seats folks.
DISCLAIMER: These characters y más belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
Ms. Rowling, I apologize for their mistreatment.
WARNING: Don't read if you aren't sure about the warnings, I don't want to offend anyone. Possible triggers. General creepiness from Voldemort, poor poor Draco, description of non-con, and a haphazard ending. If this doesn't appeal, there are a million other fics that you'll like better. I don't mind if you want to jump ship.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
He lifted up a strand of pale blond hair, smelling it softly. It felt like silk and smelt like lavender, of all things. Fucking Malfoy's. But the smell went straight to his cock anyways, as he let the hair fall back into place. The boy would have to grow it out, it was just barely long enough to grab onto at its current length. The image of Draco, tears in his eyes, bobbing up and down, chocking on his length, his own bony hand fisted tightly in the delicate locks, forcing the boy to take more, and more, yes! His eyes narrowed at the thought. Oh, but it would be so easy.
Voldemort walked around until he was facing his boy. Those gorgeous eyes were squeezed shut, and he fought back a flash of anger. Draco didn’t know, didn’t yet understand. It would be cruel to crucio him when he didn’t know the rules yet. Voldemort didn’t want to scare him to badly, not yet anyways, not over this.
“Open your eyes Draco.”
The boy's thin lips were slightly parted, breath quick and panicked. Draco's eyes slowly blinked open but stayed fixed on the hem of Voldemort's dark robes. The Dark Lord reached out a hand to tilt up Draco’s face to meet his own. His boy was scared, obviously, but Voldemort wondered what exactly Draco thought that he was going to do to him. Gently cupping that pale cheek, he marveled at it’s smoothness.
Really, Lucius, who knew such a delight could come from your poisonous line…
“Good boy, Draco. Never hide these from me, I find them quite, hm. Stunning.” Draco nodded jerkily, afraid to look away but obviously desperate to be anywhere but here.
Soon, he will beg for my cock.
Thumbing his cheek softly, Voldemort wondered at his own unwillingness to harm the vulnerable boy before him. Any other conquest would have been bent over that ridiculous armchair already, screaming and moaning in turn. Draco though... he calmed the rage inside him. He wanted to show this boy his power, his benevolence. Take him gently and kiss the tears from his cheeks. Yet he knew that he had to own Draco, possess him entirely, fill him up in every conceivable way and make it so that he knew who he belonged too.
Voldemort wondered if he was untouched. He certainly acted like it, trembling under his palm with no real conception of what lay in store for him. An innocent trying to muddle through a dark new world. Voldemort pictured that creamy skin laid out for him on the boy’s childhood bed, long limbs lying askew as his body shook, unable to process all the sensations that brought him closer and closer to his climax.
There would be pain, the sweetest kind, that made the boy scream and thrash in terror. But he would calm his boy, hold his arms secure above his struggling form and stroke him, turning his cries into moans. Draco would come to know the ecstasy that only the dark lord could give him. He would long for it, and before to long his sweet boy would stare up at him with those eyes, those damnable eyes, begging for him to thrust harder, deeper, faster. Tears would blur that flawless grey, shimmering and spilling as he bled from his virgin hole. Gods, but how tight it's going to feel around his cock, as his boy arches and cries. He would beg for his lord to stop and he would beg for him to let him cum, one plea right after the other, as he pounded into that bundle of nerves that would turn this boy into his little slut, just for him.
Almost unwittingly, his gentle caress of Draco’s cheek had turned into a death grip on his jaw, nails digging into his skin. His perfect boy still had his eyes trained on him, but Draco’s heart rate was nearing a dangerous tempo, his breath a jagged pattern of gasps and choked off sobs. Voldemort loosened his grip slightly as he shook off his daydream. His cock was like steel pressed against his robes, and more than anything he wanted to shove the boy to his knees and wreck him.
He was stopped by the knowledge that this wasn’t what he wanted. The boy was his, that was certain. Draco would be his whore, but he was not a whore. Voldemort would own this fledging death eater completely. He would dominate his dreams, his thoughts, his nightmares. Such a perfectly moldable calamite, everything in his life would come from his lord. Pleasure, pain, food, comfort. Yes, soon he would know to whom he belonged. Draco would love him in a way that none other was capable of.
Releasing his grip on the boy's face entirely, Voldemort pulled Draco flush against him, stroking his hands up and down that shuttering back.
“Shush boy, quiet. I will not harm you. Breath, slowly.” Within a few minutes Draco’s panic had faded substantially. He stiffened in the dark lord's arms, and Voldemort grinned.
“There, Draco. You did well.” He stroked a hand through that soft hair, knowing perfectly well that Draco could feel his arousal pressing against his stomach. “What are you so afraid of?”
Draco hiccuped softly, tears staining the dark lords robe. “I-I know why you have sent for m-me, my lord.” His soft speech only made Voldemort grasp him tighter, humming in question at his statement.
“Father told me, I mean, I-I know what to.” A shaky gasp. “I am here to please you, my lord. Father said…”
Voldemort hissed out a sharp warning. “Don’t mention Lucius again, Draco. I won’t have it. You are mine now.” He pushed Draco off his chest abruptly and yanked up his sleeve, exposing his brand on that slender arm. “This marks my ownership, mine. Your father holds no sway over you now.”
Draco’s eyes widened at the dark lord's angry words. He nodded quickly, twisting his arm uncomfortably where long fingers were grasping painfully.
Voldemort relaxed slightly at Draco’s submission. “Lucius is an idiot, Draco. I have no desire to have you sent to me by his word. You are here because I want you here, and I don’t appreciate him trying to groom you for something he cannot understand. I will talk to him.”
Brushing hair back from that sharp face, Voldemort leaned in close Draco’s ear, all sharp teeth and cold breath along delicate skin.
“Mine.” he whispered. Draco froze, breath stuck in his lungs, as the most powerful wizard alive nosed along his jawline, breathing in deeply. His hand slid up to fist tightly in Draco’s hair as his clammy lips descended viciously to attack the mouth before him.
Only then did Draco’s body decide that it wanted to breathe, and his lips parted as he attempted to draw in air. This only served to create an opening for the dark lord to thrust his tongue into Draco’s mouth, holding him firmly as he weakly struggled to pull away.
Just as Draco feared that the lack of oxygen to his brain was going to allow him to pass out and escape this nightmare, Voldemort broke the kiss as suddenly as he started it.
He pressed Draco to his chest once again as the boy gasped for breath, his thin back heaving under Voldemort’s hands.
“You will go to your room, Draco. Do not speak to anyone. I will be up just as soon as I discuss a few things with your father.” He pulled that pale face back far enough so that he could stare down into those bewildered grey eyes. Voldemort spoke firmly, knowing that the boy's fear would make understanding his commands difficult. He did not want to have to punish his boy on their first night.
“When I enter your room, I expect to find you on the bed, unclothed and hard. Noncompliance will be very painful, I assure you. Do not disappoint me Draco.”
Well that's that. I have forever besmirched the legacies of both Rowling and Poe. Forgive me. But did you love it too, you adorable weirdos?
As always, I would love to hear suggestions and advice. Also, if you catch any grammatical errors let me know because they are more embarrassing the longer they stay there.
Chapter 4: Bargaining
Draco enters a new circle of hell. Where is Virgil when you need him?
Hello all. I've been reading your comments, and I've made some drastic changes. I'm contorting the plot so that the timeline will be slightly more cannon. At least as cannon as this hot mess can be. Harry and Draco won't meet up for awhile, but fear not Drarry lovers, it's coming.
At least this way I can satisfy that horrible little part of me that calls for some hurt Draco.
If you would rather stick to the original story line, message me and I will let you know when Harry and Draco meet up. That plot line, as of now, will continue as planned.
Otherwise, enjoy! I am going to make the Draco/Voldemort pairing much more prominent.
WARNINGS: graphic non-con, suicidal thoughts, and Voldemort... Whom I believe to be a warning in and of itself.
As always, don't risk it if you are unsure of the tags.
DISCLAIMER: No matter how many letters I write, Ms. Rowling still refuses to gift me the Harry Potter universe. Probably for the best.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Ridiculously, the first thing Draco thought when he stumbled into his room was that there was no way that he was going to make it to the train tomorrow. Pansy and Blaise would no doubt wonder where he was, and he was going to miss the welcoming feast, one of the highlights of the year. Next to quidditch of course. Merlin, was he going to get to see a match this year? Maybe he would not be allowed back to school. Who knew what the dark lord’s plans were for him?
Don’t be an idiot, you know what his plans are. You know what he wants from you.
Would he be killed when his lord was done with him? After all, what other use could he be? Everyone knew of his failure in June. The fact that Draco hadn’t received the killing curse for not succeeding in killing Dumbledore was spoken of in whispers throughout the manor.
Maybe this was his punishment? Or perhaps it was both his and his father’s. Lucius had lost standing recently too. His father’s shame and stressed appearance were observed gleefully by his fellow death eaters. Merlin knows the Malfoys had not made many friends through their pride and ambition.
Draco stood before his bed and stared at his half packed trunk. His pitiful worries from earlier seemed like they were years behind him. How did his life fall apart so quickly? He briefly considered the dark lord’s orders.
Naked and har…
NO! He couldn’t do it. He was to much a Slytherin to lay back and get it over with. He could face many things, but never that. His first time was not meant to be with a monster… Surely there was another way. The dark lord must be reasonable, there would be something else that Draco could offer him with more value. If he could just prove himself useful, then this punishment would be unnecessary.
Draco had a lot of connections at Hogwarts. He did not have the same influence as his father, but Draco could be useful back at the school. Swaying students to the dark lord’s cause would be a start. Besides, finishing his education would make him a more powerful soldier if it came down to fighting.
Not that Draco was eager to fight, but the more reasons he could list the easier it would be to sway the dark lord to his way of thinking. After all, Draco was a Malfoy. They have been one of the most powerful wizarding families for generations. Lucius himself maintained a spot in the inner circle, and was once one of Voldemort’s most trusted servants. Since the fall his reputation had lessened, but hadn’t everyone’s?
Yes, Draco concluded. He could still be useful to the dark lord. These scare tactics would not work on him. It was obvious Voldemort meant to test his loyalty. Would he run? Attack? No.
Draco was going to prove to the dark lord that he was far more useful alive than dead. He would swear his allegiance once again, and when Voldemort had seen the benefits of Draco’s service, well then Draco would be on the next train to Hogwarts. Hopefully in time for the first Hogsmeade visit.
Of course, confidence and appearance were everything. Lucius had taught him well; he knew how to act perfectly to achieve his goals. So Draco set about clearing the luggage from his bed, tucking it out of sight. He then called for a house elf and had tea brought up. He had just settled into the green armchair by the fire when he heard someone approaching. He knew without question that it was the dark lord. The feeling of his magic was unmistakable.
Draco’s hands shook as he poured himself a cup of tea. No cream, three sugars. He was making an attempt to get the cup to his lips without spilling when the door to his room opened.
Sure enough, the tall form of Voldemort passed through the threshold and glanced at the bed. Seeing nothing, his eyes scanned the room and rested upon Draco’s form, every inch the aristocratic pureblood.
Draco tensed, his grip on the cup near shattering the delicate porcelain. He half expected the dark lord to crucio him for his blatant disobedience. However, his assumption that this was nothing more than a scare tactic was proven when the dark lord simply glided across the room and sat across from him. He stared at Draco, seated almost ridiculously in the elegant armchair. Nothing was said for several minutes. Draco was frozen, and Voldemort seemed content to observe him. There was no emotion written on that snakelike face. The uncertainty, more than anything, spurned Draco into action.
“Tea, my lord?”
Tea? TEA! You offer this lunatic tea as if he was a cousin visiting for brunch?
Those soulless eyes never left his own as the dark lord nodded.
“Just cream.” He almost looked… amused now. Draco’s hands shook harder as he poured a second cup. Mercifully not dumping hot water all over the table.
Voldemort took a small sip. Draco thought he would faint from the bizarreness of it all. He needed to focus though, he had to prove his worth to the dark lord. He furrowed his brow slightly, focusing on his key points. A concise argument was best, after all he couldn’t expect too much of the dark lord’s time.
Voldemort smirked slightly behind his cup. He was not peering into the boy’s mind — his shielding was to good for an unobserved peek — but he could see Draco’s resolve written all over his face. It was almost like the boy was conducting a running pep talk in his head and had forgotten who he was with. Momentarily. It amused Voldemort to no end because his boy was so unguarded, so unaware of the complexities of life, and so his every thought was reflected on his expressive face. He could only imagine all of the different things he would do to him to invoke such reactions.
Very well, if his boy wanted to play this game, Voldemort would humor him. It was like watching a toddler play chess. Draco wouldn’t understand the rules or the pieces, but it would be amusing to watch him try. The end game would be the same either way.
“I see you’ve chosen to disregard my instructions, Draco.”
If possible, the boy tensed further. Voldemort gave that teacup two minutes, maybe less.
“Apologies, my lord.” Draco’s voice was clear, but his grey eyes fixed on anything that wasn’t Voldemort. “I realized your true meaning shortly after leaving you. I understand what you were saying, and I can be useful!”
The last part of his sentence came out as more of a desperate cry. Draco froze once again, breath still a bit ragged from his outburst. Once he collected himself, he made as if to continue. Voldemort sat back and let him, content to hear his boy out. It would be best to let him get it all out of his system before Voldemort enforced the boy’s new position. False hope was too cruel, and he did not want to be unnecessarily cruel to Draco.
“I’ve made lots of friends at Hogwarts, and I… not to say that is why I want to go… back that is. I meant that I have a lot of influence and, um, I could recruit? Yes, recruit. The next generation of death eaters are at Hogwarts right now and I can influence them! Not more than you, my lord, I didn’t mean…”
His boy was stammering now, growing whiter and whiter as all the blood drained from his face. Voldemort could practically hear his heart pounding inside his chest. It was delicious, but he decided not to let this continue. He would sooth his boy as only he could. Once Draco understood his new circumstances he would calm down. He knew that Draco would take time to fully adjust but anything was better than this self-induced panic attack.
“Stop, Draco. I don’t need any more people stationed within the school.” Big grey eyes finally tilted upward and met his own. They were wide and framed with the boy’s thick lashes, so fucking perfect, with so many emotions flashing through them that it was hard to keep up. Especially since Voldemort had not cared to notice these emotions in others before, and had not felt many himself for years.
“Severus has been appointed headmaster. He will represent my interests there. You, Draco, will stay here.”
“Headmaster? But he killed… wait, here? Why?”
Voldemort leaned forward slightly, staring more intently into those eyes. He chose his words with care, and spoke as calmly as he could manage with his anticipation boiling beneath his skin.
“I already explained Draco — you should not work so hard to deceive yourself. You are mine now and you will stay here with me. I have chosen you, out of all the others, and I will be your mentor in all things. You will stay by my side at gatherings, dine with me when I am here, and service me when I require.”
Draco’s voice was broken when he whispered his response, so softly it might have been mistake for an exhale. “Service…”
Those eyes had turned to stare at the floor, and didn’t notice when Voldemort rose with hardly a noise, thick black robes falling smoothly about him. He crossed the short distance to Draco’s chair and the boy jumped when he placed his cold hand on his arm. With a pull, he brought the unresisting boy up to a stand. It was obvious Draco was in shock, his young mind trying to process everything he had learned and what it would mean for him.
Softer than he knew he was capable of, Voldemort tilted that pointed chin up and gazed into those distant eyes. He moved slowly, and pressed his lips against Draco’s full ones. Nothing, no response at all. Draco was so lost in his own head that he didn’t even flinch when cold arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, deepening the kiss.
It wasn’t until the dark lord’s tongue pushed forcefully into his mouth that Draco snapped to attention. His eyes widened even further as he took in what was going on. It was hard to catch his breath, the mouth on him was unrelenting, pushing deeper and pressing down on his lips almost painfully with his own mouth. Draco finally lifted his arms and shoved fruitlessly at the dark lord’s chest. When nothing happened, he squeaked and struggled in the cage of those hard arms.
Voldemort pulled back, eyes narrowed down at his boy, frustrated at the resistance.
“What are you doing.” he said sharply.
Draco flinched hard, still trying to pull away. “Please, my lord, please. I-I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’ve… I’ve never, please don’t make me!”
The dark lord ran his hand soothingly down Draco’s shuddering back, feeling an eerie sense of deja vu. After that scene down in the study, it had seemed like Draco had given in. Apparently not. Typical bloody Malfoy; his boy would make him work hard to own him. Never the less, it would be worth it in the end. Draco would be a flawless companion, he just needed a bit of instruction.
Voldemort released the boy, and strode with long steps to the plush bed. Draco had frozen upon release, wide eyes trained on the dark lord, breath heaving.
“Come here Draco.” Voldemort snapped. His voice was whiplike, a clear order. And bless Lucius’s impact on his poor boy’s psyche because he actually crossed the room to stand in front of Voldemort, shaking violently.
“Good boy,” he hissed. “Now, take off your robes.”
Draco was frozen again. Voldemort could practically see the boy’s thoughts flying around. But there was no escape. Voldemort knew it and more importantly, Draco knew it.
Thin fingers slowly rose to undo his robe, trembling. Draco was biting his lip, a drop of blood gathering while Voldemort watched. He thought about leaning forward and licking it off, but that would wait. For now, he wanted to watch his boy strip for him. Draco was hesitant, clearly virginal and shy, but somehow that just made it better. Usually all Voldemort required, should the urge strike, was a warm hole. Willingness and circumstance were not of import.
But Draco… Merlin, the moment was perfect. Voldemort wanted him in every way, again and again. He wanted to own his boy completely. He craved the submission, and Draco seemed practically built for this.
Finally the robe fell and pooled around those pedicured feet. He was wearing a pair of black briefs, and Voldemort reached out his hand and rested it on the waistband, thumb stroking over that prominent hipbone.
Draco choked off a sob as he hooked his thumbs under the band and pulled them down, kicking them slightly away once they reached his feet. He now stood before the dark lord completely naked. His cheeks were starting to flush, and he moved his hands to cover himself.
Voldemort stopped him, grabbing those thin wrists in one hand. He ran his other down Draco’s side, stroking over each rib before falling lower to his hip and thigh, then reaching around and grabbing that delicious curve forcefully, illicitness a gasp from Draco. He continued to squeeze and knead that firm flesh as Draco whimpered and squirmed futilely.
Tears had welled up in the boy’s eyes before he released him. Voldemort leaned back slightly, and summoned up his firmest voice.
“Lay down on my lap Draco, on your stomach.” And blessed Merlin the boy actually obeyed. The dark lord was practically giddy. Draco was hardwired to respond to a commanding male presence, he would have to thank Lucius later. Although he doubted the boy’s father would relish the news.
Voldemort helped Draco adjust, positioning his tense body to be more comfortable for the both of them. Draco’s heart rate increased when his stomach was set fully against the dark lord’s lap and he felt the hardness of his length digging into him. Voldemort hissed at the pressure, running his hand possessively over those pale globes reverently.
“I am going to go easy on you this time pet, because you were scared and confused. But in the future, any deviance from my orders will result in a far more painful punishment. You do not want to test me on this. Now, do you understand why this is happening?”
In a quick move that was entirely to predictable, Draco attempted to push off the dark lord’s lap. He was pinned down firmly by Voldemort’s large palm, and a resounding crack across his naked ass made the boy yelp. He stilled immediately.
“Answer me Draco.” Voldemort hissed.
There were a few more moments of weak struggling before Draco ceased, lying limp once again. His pale skin already showed the bright red imprint of Voldemort’s hand. He imagined it probably throbbed quite painfully, but Draco had brought this upon himself. Besides, the pain his boy was feeling now was but a drop of water in the ocean compared to what he had coming. Voldemort didn’t want it to be this way, not the first time, but there was no other choice.
Draco craned his head to look into the dark lord’s eyes. Doubtless he saw the darkness there, the promise of pain, for he answered quickly after that.
“I disobeyed… I am sorry my lord! Please, please…” Draco trailed off as his eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry…”
Voldemort grinned. Finally.
“There, there Draco. Your punishment will be over quickly. Then I will give you unbelievable pleasure. Do you think you can be brave for a few minutes more pet?”
Draco certainly didn’t feel brave right now. The dark lord was terrifying and his hands were everywhere. There was no way he could escape. Even if he somehow managed to break free of the much larger man’s considerable strength, he stood about a snowball’s chance in hell at surviving a dual. Draco could hold his own against his classmates but against the dark lord, well, he’d have more luck defeating him by aggressively throwing seat cushions.
Through the haze of his panic, Draco heard Voldemort speaking. He tried to focus, why make it worse for himself? But the feeling of that enormous erection pressing into his middle sent him spiraling down into the fear. He let it consume him. Would it hurt? Probably. Draco knew what actions were expected during sex, and just the thought of that monstrous thing inside his body made him pant. Surely it would kill him, there was no way he would not bleed out. Perhaps it would be for the best? Because after this what did Draco have to live for?
Draco shrieked when a large hand viciously hit his exposed cheek, sending fiery bolts of pain racing up his spine. It jolted him out of the fog and back into the dismal present.
Oh merlin that hurt!
“Are you with me now, Draco? I want you to count. You will get ten more smacks, and if you can behave then that will be the end of it.” He rubbed his cold hands soothingly over Draco’s reddened buttocks, making him suck a pained breath in through his teeth.
“Are you ready Draco?”
He couldn’t bring himself to agree, but he nodded jerkily as he closed his eyes tightly, preparing for the expected slap.
When it landed though, he found that he was still not prepared. If anything, the third was worse, igniting the sting of the last two and yet still setting off a whole new burning. Draco was stunned, he had never felt anything like this in his life! Sure, his father would lay into him every once in a while, but nothing like this. A cold, impartial hit on the back of his head was nothing like the shooting pains originating from his rear.
Draco had forgotten to count, but as Voldemort smoothed his hand over the red marks, Draco realized what he was waiting for. He counted off one with a shaky gasp.
Two, three, and four came in rapid succession, each more painful than the last. His ass felt like it was on fire, and Draco’s breathing was harsh and loud in the otherwise quiet room.
After five, six, and seven, Draco’s face was wet with tears. Voldemort was breathing heavily above him, his hardness pressing upwards painfully now. But Draco could not bring himself to fear it, not when this spanking hurt so much. His mind was focused entirely on the pain.
Eight and nine had Draco sobbing and screaming breathlessly.
“STOP! Please, oh merlin, please stop! I-I can’t take it.”
That large hand was oddly soothing now, stroking softly over his heated flesh. The cold of the dark lord’s hand felt amazing, and Draco cried more because he didn’t want that hand to leave. It soothed even as it caused him pain, and he could not think this through right now.
“Just one more, Draco.” Voldemort whispered eagerly.
A final, hard smack drew a piercing scream from Draco, before he dissolved once again into sobs. Voldemort drew his shaking boy up to rest his head on his chest, wrapping his arms around him firmly as he cried. Now Draco was not fighting for freedom, the dark lord thought smugly. Instead he had a tight grip on Voldemort’s soft robes as his tears soaked the fabric.
A few minutes more, and the sobs faded out, and Voldemort waited until Draco was starting to tense in his arms before once again tilting Draco’s face up. The shift caused the boy to wince, no doubt feeling the evidence of his spanking on his ass as it resettled on Voldemort’s lap. Now his cock pressed up perfectly into the boy, and he gasped as he crashed their lips together.
There was no more fight in Draco and he surrendered to the kiss easily. Perhaps the dark lord had not lied when he promised pleasure? He just wanted this shooting pain to stop. Maybe when the dark lord was done using him he would allow him to collect his shattered pride and flee. He couldn’t go to his mother, it would destroy her. But he could get some healing potions from their stores, and a bottle of fire-whiskey. Then Draco could drink himself into a stupor while he decided whether or not he would go on after this.
Voldemort could see the despair in his boy’s eyes. That would not do, the punishment was over. From this point on Draco would know only the pleasure of their joining. Voldemort would give him a new life, raise him above his pathetic family and make him his. Soon Draco would look at him with love, his eyes would sparkle as he ground down teasingly on Voldemort’s cock, running those small hands over his own chest, gasping sweetly.
Excitement rising, Voldemort gripped Draco’s hips and pushed them down harshly, moaning at the feeling. His sharp teeth tore at Draco’s lips, loving the taste of his sweet mouth and bitter blood. Draco cried out softly in fear, but Voldemort ignored it. It’s the boy’s first time, of course he will be nervous. Draco will get over it as he shows him how pleasurable it is.
Voldemort picked Draco up and threw him in the middle of the bed to quickly for the injured boy to react. He stood and towered over Draco, a nightmare in black, before dropping his own robes and falling heavily onto of the pale beauty in his bed. He stared into those deep eyes as he explored every inch of his toy’s body, twisting his pink nipples and slowly making his way down to that pale cock, lying limply in a bed of wispy blond hair.
Every inch of Draco is perfect, but this is divine.
He stroked slowly, bringing it to full hardness as the boy sobbed bitterly beneath him. He pinched the delicate skin on Draco’s inner thigh as punishment, absentmindedly shushing him as his cold hands drifted lower, dipping into that secret place, untouched by anyone. And merlin, if he thought Draco was warm elsewhere, he was a furnace down here! His tiny pucker twitched delicately under his probing finger, and Voldemort could only imagine how silky and hot Draco was going to feel wrapped around his length.
Impatient now, Voldemort shoved in two fingers. It was a bit difficult, but he managed. Draco let out a blood curdling scream at that, blond hair tossed back as his chin tipped upwards, eyes closed tight. He was still crying, but it was his first time. Of course it won’t be easy.
Voldemort marveled at how unbelievably tight his boy was as he plunged his fingers in and out, twisting and stretching quickly. He was eager to fuck Draco; the boy writhed so appealingly beneath him. He pushed in a third finger and noticed the slight ease at which he drove the trio deep into Draco’s quivering body. Voldemort glanced down and saw the vibrant blood staining his fingers. He truly was his boy’s first!
Voldemort swept down and kissed Draco passionately, continuing to jam his fingers in and out. He swallowed all the fresh screams and felt those hot tears running down Draco’s face. Small hands pressed against his chest, either pushing or simply resting, he couldn’t tell. Draco was weak and shaky, spread legs strained with effort.
His fingers searched inside the boy, pressing deeper and deeper, until… yes! There. Draco’s eyes flew open and he gasped, screams stopping abruptly. Voldemort continued to thrust his fingers violently, stretching his boy but making sure to hit his prostate every few passes. Soon enough Draco was gasping in pleasure, pupils blown wide as they watched the dark lord between his legs. Pain was still written on that lovely face, but when those cock sucking lips parted in a perfect gasp at one particularly direct hit… Voldemort could take it no longer.
He yanked his fingers out of his boy and Draco moaned at the feeling. Even though his cock could not possibly get any harder, Voldemort stroked it twice as he looked down at Draco’s fluttering hole. Merlin, that little cunt was just begging to be filled.
Draco stared up from below him, gasping and panting quietly. His slim length was rock hard as well, jutting upwards, practically begging for attention. Voldemort stroked his own cock again, moaning as the motion drew Draco’s eyes down to look at it. Those grey orbs widened in disbelief. Voldemort knew what the boy saw, in this new body his manhood was strange, with a bulbous head and thickly protruding veins. And if Tom Riddle had been gifted, Voldemort was blessed. His cock was huge, and he saw the fear in his boy’s eyes as he took it in.
He leaned down and kissed Draco’s lips softly, comfortingly, before pressing his tongue against the tight seal, asking for entrance. Once again Draco made him proud, and let him in without a fuss. Voldemort swept his tongue around the insides of that delicious mouth as he gave his cock one last pull.
He guided himself to Draco’s entrance and paused only a moment to feel that heat on his slit before pushing brutally inside. Draco thrashed, screaming into the dark lord’s mouth as he flailed pointlessly beneath Voldemort’s larger body.
He hadn’t quite made it in with the first shove, so he drew back slightly and slammed forward once more, simultaneously pushing Draco’s body down onto him by his tight grip on his hips. Now fully impaled on his length Draco twisted and screamed, unable to move or relieve the pain at all.
Voldemort stopped moving, giving the boy a moment to adjust. He panted roughly above him at the effort, merlin Draco’s body was perfect. His tight little hole hugged his cock like none other. It was so warm and soft, he wished he never had to remove himself.
But his self control only lasted so long, and right now Voldemort wanted to cum above all else. He drew back and thrust back into Draco, drawing another chorus of sounds. Draco looked so beautiful like this. His head thrown back, silky hair scattered about the pillow. His skin gleamed with sweat and his cheeks with tears. Voldemort knew that if he turned his boy over he would see that lovely red ass, and the thought caused his cock to twitch inside Draco. However this time he wanted to face his boy.
I want to see his eyes as I bring him to orgasim on my cock.
He pushed his engorged length deeper with more purpose. Once again, when he found it his perfect boy let him know immediately with a slutty moan. He rewarded his boy with another thrust, hard against that spot, and Draco’s eyes flew open and met his own.
“Keep your eyes on me, whore.” Voldemort grunted between thrusts. He pushed in and out faster now, driving that thin body halfway up the bed.
Draco was openly moaning now, his cock leaking precum onto his stomach. The sounds coming from that bruised mouth were driving Voldemort crazy, and he hammered into that tight heat with more vigor, hitting Draco’s prostate with every thrust.
Those grey eyes remained locked on his, tears long gone as his boy was consumed with pleasure. He could tell Draco was close by the way his ass tightened around him, and those delicate fingers were now gripping the flesh of the dark lord’s arms. Voldemort grinned as Draco wrapped his legs tightly around him, drawing him closer and deeper.
“Beg, Draco. Beg to be allowed to cum on my cock.” Voldemort hissed sharply, hardly able to think past his violent need to cum.
Gasping softly, Draco was near incoherent as he babbled words up at Voldemort, long past caring.
“Please… I need, I have too… OH merlin please lord please…” Draco cut himself off with a particularly loud moan, tightening his ass almost painfully around Voldemort’s cock.
Hissing at the sensation, Voldemort slammed into the boy’s pliant body a few more times before Draco was pushed over the edge with a scream. His cock pulsed once before spurting hard and covering his chest and Voldemort’s stomach with white tendrils of cum.
Unbelievably, as he came the boy’s sweet hole got even tighter. Voldemort abandoned any sense of control and rocketed in and out, making Draco cry out weakly as his now limp body was pushed about on his lord’s cock. With a deep grown, Voldemort pressed in deeper than ever before, swearing he could see the fucking outline of his cock poking at Draco’s toned stomach, and he let loose a flood of hot semen deep in Draco’s abused hole.
His beautiful boy moaned softly beneath him as Voldemort let his body fall, recovering from his orgasim by resting his full weight on Draco’s smaller frame. It was only when he felt that stuttering breath against his chest that he pushed himself up and slowly slide his limp cock out of that stretched hole. It was followed by a string of blood and cum, and tears slipped from Draco’s eyes at the sensation.
Collapsing onto the bed Voldemort grabbed at the warm body next to him and dragged Draco to rest against his chest. His boy didn’t even blink, just closed his eyes and sighed in exhaustion. Within moments he had passed out on Voldemort, his body worn out from stress and pain and pleasure.
Voldemort ran his hand through Draco’s soft hair. A small part of him had wondered that if once he got the boy his obsession would end. It seemed not though, he still wanted this young pureblood just as much, if not more. Draco was everything Voldemort could hope for in a consort. He had submitted so beautifully, and through his questioning he had learned that Draco was wildly intelligent. He could see that anyways, when he looked into those perfect eyes. So much trust and innocence, and Voldemort was sure that even after tonight Draco would not lose those qualities. Voldemort knew he would never tire of this child. He could never let him go.
Well, that's the rewrite. I was very grateful for everyone's opinions, because I think it really helped me to improve this chapter. But time will tell <3. I hope you all enjoy.
Hello heroic Harry... enter the savior?
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 5: Dinner
Harry, about time you showed up.
Author, about damn time you updated.
Voldie, just wow man.
Draco, I am so sorry.
Here there be triggers.
I do not own the Harry Potter Universe.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Harry bolted upright, pupils blown wide and hair sticking up in all directions. The cool air felt like heaven on his overheated skin as he drew in great gasps of air. Harry glanced around wildly, half expecting to still feel pale limbs pressed up against his own. His dream had seemed more real than all the others before it. He could still feel Draco’s warmth; the silkiness of his skin as he rubbed his clammy hands all over the boy.
No, not his hands! Voldemort’s. Harry would never hurt someone like that. It was unthinkable!
Harry shuttered at the memory. Draco was a death eater - he had seen the dark mark - so why was Voldemort doing that to him?
But Harry knew why. He wouldn’t admit it, he'd barely acknowledged it himself, but while he was in Voldemort’s head he was truly immersed in the man’s dark thoughts. He felt the lust and excitement right alongside Voldemort. And oh, Draco really was perfect.
If Harry overlooked the fear, pain, and blood, he could easily imagine himself with Draco. It was not something he had ever thought of before, but now that he looks back he realizes how much of his time had been spent obsessing over Draco: constantly following him, pouring over the map for his name, watching him eat in the great hall. While his obsession was not as violent as Voldemort, Harry could not deny that he possessed a rather unhealthy tendency to focus entirely to much on Draco.
Draco. If he had him, it would not be like that. He would have made love to him, sweetly and tenderly, telling him over and over how beautiful he is and placing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. Harry knew he could help Draco heal from the wounds inflicted by that monster. Rescue him from his elitist father and from that cold, uncaring house. Draco would love him for it, and they could be a family. Harry didn’t really need anything fancy, but Draco would probably want a nice place for them to live. Maybe, after the war was over and Voldemort was rotting in the ground, Harry and Draco could fix up the Black manor.
Slowly, Harry started to relax into his daydreams. The shock and horror from the dream began to fade and pleasant images took their spot. He imagined long nights on a rug by the fireplace, cuddling close and whispering sweet words. They would be pressed together, skin on skin, until their whispers turned to kisses and their kisses to hands stroking firm flesh and…
An uncomfortable tightness in his jeans jerked Harry out of his fantasy. He had been so swept up that he'd trailed a hand down to grope himself through the fabric, gasping at the pleasure shooting up his spine. It paled in comparison to the way Draco had felt wrapped around his cock.
All the blood in his face - and his manhood - rushed right out at that thought. No! He hadn’t slept with Draco. The blond had been viciously raped by a genocidal monster. The fact that he had gotten aroused after participating in that, even as an observer, made Harry sick to his stomach.
Stumbling out of bed Harry threw on his shirt and glasses. What was wrong with him? Draco wouldn’t want to sleep with him, merlin, Draco hated him. Maybe he hated Voldemort more now, but still. This stupid riding off into the sunset fantasy was just that — a stupid fantasy. Draco would never love Harry. And to be honest, Harry was skeptical that he was even going to make it out of all of this alive. Come next year, it was very likely that Voldemort will have won. Draco could be stuck there forever, but maybe it just couldn’t be helped. Harry had more important things to worry about anyways. He couldn’t rush into Voldemort’s headquarters to save a classmate; he had to focus on the horcruxes. That was the only way anyone had a future.
They were so close to the next one, Harry could feel it. Today they were going to break into the Ministry of Magic, so he needed to focus solely on this task. Just the thought of what they were about to undertake made Harry sweat. Hermione was brilliant, but their plan still relied on a great deal of luck. Harry pushed all thoughts of his dream to the back of his mind, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead.
Tense was an excellent word to describe the atmosphere at dinner. Lucius and Narcissa sat side by side at the table, resolutely looking at anything but the man occupying the head of the table. Across from them Bellatrix was sulking. She was stabbing her food with her knife before lifting it to her lips, her fork long discarded. Her husband sat oblivious to the tension, shoveling food into his mustache - I mean mouth - as quickly as possible.
Voldemort observed his new family from the end of the table. They were far from perfect, but they meant something to Draco, and so Voldemort had decided against removing them from the picture entirely. While he wanted to be the only person in Draco’s life, Voldemort found himself almost liking the idea of a family. Granted, a pureblooded family. Nothing like that filth he had before. And most importantly, a family that he could control absolutely.
Draco shifted slightly where he was perched on his knee, a crimson blush staining those perfect cheeks. Voldemort sensed his boy’s discomfort about being seen in such a position by his parents, and chuckled softly as he drew him in closer by his waist. He knew Draco was still sore from their… activities the night before. Just thinking about it was enough to have his blood running south. He thought back to this morning; waking up to his golden lover still curled at his side, still covered in his marks and cum. That had been the best moment of his life.
Voldemort speared another piece of the roast on his fork, bringing it slowly to Draco’s plush lips, prompting him to open. Dark eyelashes fanned across pale cheeks as Draco accepted the offering, clearly unable to meet the gaze of anyone else in the room. He chewed slowly, probably because his hunger was dampened by his shock. Voldemort was under no illusions, he knew that Draco was going to take quite a bit of time to adjust to his new life as Voldemort’s companion. But Voldemort was the most powerful wizard to ever live. He had risen from nothing more than an unwanted orphan to the man that inspired fear in the hearts of wizards everywhere. He had accomplished every goal that he had set himself as a young boy. Everything he had ever wanted, he had gotten for himself. And now that he had Draco, he was complete. There was just one more thing he needed. Soon, he would make Draco love him.
Voldemort had plenty of servants, and didn’t want just another terrified wizard, serving him for his own survival. He wanted Draco, in every way. Once Draco loved him, he would beg to be by his lord’s side and in his bed. Voldemort vowed to himself that soon he would know everything there was to know about his boy. His hopes, dreams, and fears. And then he would make them all come true.
The food on the Dark Lord’s plate was dwindling, and Draco prayed that this travesty of a meal was almost complete. His parents had not looked at him once since their initial, heart wrenching, look at his position on the Dark Lord’s lap. Bella looked at him to often, and her glares were making Draco nervous. Even he knew that the bitch was crazy. And his ‘uncle’ Rodolphus rarely looked up from his food but when he did his leer made Draco shiver. The man’s eyes had always trailed after Draco in a decidedly inappropriate way, but it seems that the man felt able to take new liberties now that Draco had been reduced to Voldemort’s whore.
He could feel the Dark Lord’s hardness pressed against him throughout supper and Draco shuddered as he thought about the events of last night. If he had to take that thing into his body once more… he was already so sore, Draco swore that he would be ripped in half. The pain had slowly dulled since this morning. And oh Merlin, this morning. Waking up in a dried pool of the Dark Lord’s cum and his own blood had been terrifying enough, but the realization that he had spent the night tucked against his rapist’s side had been indescribably. Draco felt so confused. Even though he knew that this monster was the cause of all of his pain, it had still felt nice to be held. His parents had never been big huggers, and Draco couldn’t remember the last time another person touched him in any way other than in passing.
Voldemort’s body had been warm where his skin was touching his. Draco’s head had rested on that muscled chest, and it hadn’t felt horrible. It had actually felt kind of nice to lay there, while fingers stroked through his hair and his modified pillow had rose and fell smoothly. Draco felt, for the first time in years, cared for. And if it wasn’t for the bolt of terror that raced through him every time he thought of who it was that held him so close, Draco might have labeled the morning as kind of nice.
A piece of roast nudged against Draco’s lips and shook him out of his thoughts. He dutifully opened his pursed lips and took it between his teeth, chewing carefully. He hardly felt hungry, but it was probably best to play along for now. It’s not like he has many other options, Draco thought to himself dryly.
He raised his eyes slightly and caught site of his captor. His face was narrow, skin stretched tightly over a strong jaw and cheek bones. Slitted eyes met his own, and Draco saw a trace of a smirk before he quickly turned his eyes back to his hands, folded quietly on his lap. The low chuckle from the Dark Lord vibrated though Draco, making him tense further.
He sensed hot eyes on him, and knew without looking that Rodolphus was staring once more as the Dark Lord smoothed hands over his chest. His bare nipples hardened at the sensation, and Draco flushed even redder. The barest twinge of arousal made him squirm uncomfortably. His parents were right there, and Draco in no way wanted to encourage the sort of activities the Dark Lord doubtless had in mind.
Draco was saved, if one could call it that, from the Dark Lord’s attentions as the door to the dining room opened and a nameless death eater rushed in. The man shook violently as Voldemort sighed in irritation. Draco looked between the two, but as he turned his eyes to the Dark Lord he was caught by those snakelike eyes. No longer amused, Voldemort lifted Draco from his lap and set him on the floor beside him. Draco’s eyes were now even with the Dark Lord’s.
“Go back to your room now, Draco. I regret having to cut our evening short, but work beckons.” He grabbed Draco’s chin and pulled him in for a short, but wet, kiss. “I will make it up to you tonight. Run along now pet.”
Draco was momentarily frozen by the Dark Lord’s innuendo, but was propelled into movement by a harsh smack to his still sore rear. With a start he was off, fleeing that cold room as fast as he could.
Voldemort laughed silently as his boy fled the room. Draco has been behaving remarkably, so perhaps it was a kindness to give the boy a bit of a break while he dealt with this matter. His death eater, Saul something or other, looked positively frantic as he waited for the Dark Lord’s permission to speak.
Voldemort thought briefly about dismissing the others as well, but hell, they were family now. Besides, Bella would sulk for days and Voldemort found her to be a trifle unsettled… Best to keep her happy. The Malfoys had identical carefully blank expressions, waiting on their lord as well. Such obedience could only be rewarded, so he gestured for the man to speak, wordlessly allowing them to stay a part of his inner circle.
However, a few minutes into the man’s stuttered speech, Voldemort was beginning to wish he was alone for this. The search for his wand had hit another thrice damned roadblock and the Potter brat had been spotted this morning. In the Ministry itself, no less. Voldemort surged to his feet at that tidbit, raising his borrowed wand and barking out a curse (who can remember which) at the man. The death eater fell to the floor with a scream and Voldemort stormed out of the room.
Picture frames shook against the walls as he passed, their subjects fleeing his anger. It felt like a smothering fog had descended onto the hallway as Voldemort’s magic unleashed itself on anything it could find. Vases shattered, doors flew open and cracked, and anyone he came across was flung violently backwards as his magic hit them like a whip.
Voldemort paid no mind to logic, simply allowing himself to vent his frustrations in mindless violence. By the time he was done the house was as silent as the grave; each person therein holding their breath and hoping that their lord would spare them.
With a great sigh, Voldemort straightened his robe and smoothed a hand over his scull. A habit left over from a time where he had hair to smooth down. He looked about him carelessly. The damage was minimal, and he was nearly positive that he hadn’t killed anyone important. He longed for Draco, for he knew his boy would distract him from his troubles. However this issue had to be dealt with now, and he didn’t want to alarm his pet with his remaining anger.
Actions decided, Voldemort summoned his faithful servants for a council. They needed to increase the search efforts, and something had to be down about Potter.
Draco felt a severe case of deja vu hit him as he once again fled to his room and slammed the door behind him. His terror was such that he could feel his heart slamming about within his chest, almost as if it was trying to escape. A childish urge to hide under the covers of his bed filled him, only to be cast aside as he remembered his rape the night before. The bed was no longer a safe place.
The armchairs by the fire reminded him of his foolish hope barely a day before. Draco cursed himself, what a fool he had been! How arrogant to assume that he could bargain with the Dark Lord. He hated himself for those moments of hope, for they had only made his fall into despair that much farther.
Draco drew towards the window of his room — a large, steel framed thing with a view of the gardens. His room was on the second floor of the manor, with a good thirty foot drop to the ground. For the barest moment Draco thought about jumping. He imagined it would be quick; a brief fall and then darkness. But he could bring himself to do it. Couldn’t even open the window. He was a coward.
Hours later, Draco woke from a fitful sleep. He was curled uncomfortably in the corner of his room as far away from the door as possible. Earlier, he had grabbed his thickest robe to cover his near nakedness and now it was mussed and smelled faintly of his sweat. His normally flawless hair was damp and stuck out, and his eyes were bloodshot from weeping. Merlin, Draco thought, I probably look a right mess.
Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust but could not bring himself to rise and change. Had his mother seen the state of him, Draco imagined she would be livid. Lecturing about appearances and his status, as if any of that had any importance now. He was not the pureblood son of the noble lines of Malfoy and Black. He wasn’t a death eater preforming brave acts during the war. He wasn’t even a student with a bright future, eagerly awaiting the next Hogsmead visit. Draco was nothing but a whore now. When the Dark Lord got tired of him he would be killed — if he was lucky. If not, (and let’s face it, his luck hadn’t been the greatest lately) he would be released and forced to live with the shame of his debasement until he eventually worked up the courage to end it all.
All possible futures seemed bleak, and Draco cursed his luck once again. It took him longer than he cared to admit to shake off his hopelessness and head to the bath room. He relieved himself and went to wash his hands. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror all his previous imaginings were blown away, as he appeared far worse than he realized. His normally pale skin was now bloodless, and the stress of the last few days gave it a waxy tone. His eyes were indeed bloodshot, and he had deep bags under them. Hair: a positive disaster.
Above the collar of his robe Draco could see that his neck was marred with bruises of varying degree. The resulting splatter paint effect was somewhat eye catching. With trembling hands Draco withdrew his robe to find that the rest of his body matched his neck, with a few particularly noticeable bite marks spread throughout. Sliding a hand down the back of his pants, Draco felt around his entrance — something he had never even considered doing before this day. It felt enflamed and swollen, and ached fiercely even under is gentle touch. In a word: used.
In that moment, Draco found that he had no more tears to cry. With care, he slid his pants the rest of the way off and stepped numbly into the shower. A warm stream of water flowed over him. He scrubbed fiercely between his thighs and watched mutely as dried blood and cum flaked off under his ministrations and got caught up in the flow, running down his legs and into the drain. Wearing the remnants of his shame in front of his parents had been hell. While he knew that they could not have truly known what lay beneath his trousers, it wouldn’t have been much of a leap for them to assume. After all, they knew what they had given him to the Dark Lord for. Besides, even if they were blissfully unaware previously of his new position, the art strewn about his body painted a clear enough picture of how things transpired.
Draco stood under the spray until the magic maintaining the heat began to stutter. The room was humid as all hell and the mirror fogged beyond use. Good. He didn’t want to see himself anyways.
Wrapping a thick towel around himself Draco went into his room to dress. As he looked through his dresser, he found himself drawing away from his usual finery. The last thing he wanted to do right now was make himself look appealing by wearing one of his carefully tailored robes. He dug deeper until he found a remnant of his only trip to muggle London. His father had ordered them destroyed, but in a childish bit of fancy Draco had secreted them away.
The sturdy blue pants were decidedly uncomfortable with their odd, course material, and the sweater was thick and sported words he knew not the meaning of. But they were comfortable, and more importantly, the large sweater allowed him to hide within it’s depths. Draco felt like a bit of a nutter, as he admitted to himself the top served as a security blanket right now. But damn it all, the thing was warm. And if his father had a problem with the way he dressed it didn’t much matter. He belonged to the Dark Lord now.
What a day.
Voldemort was walking slowly as he returned to his room. He would never admit it, but he was tired. It seemed like every quaffle in the arena had been thrown his way today. His death eaters had done their best, but at the end of the day they were simply a bunch of fearful, racist, rabble. They may serve him, but we all saw what happens when he wasn’t there to lead them every single step of the way. Merlin, without guidance they were useless. The second he had the wizarding world completely under his thumb he would kill them all.
Unbidden, a picture of Draco’s clear grey eyes flashed through his thoughts. Well, perhaps not all of them. He never wanted to harm Draco. His precious boy, after only one day, had already wormed his way through the Dark Lord’s (formerly) impenetrable walls. Voldemort felt a twinge of regret. A feeling that shocked him, for it had been a long time since he had felt it. Draco brought so much out in him…
It had been hours since he had seen his boy and that wasn’t fair to Draco. He was still adjusting to his new life. How can Draco ever be expected to learn if his master is never around to teach him? Voldemort vowed to spend more time with the boy. Starting tonight, he would make sure Draco knew who owned him, body and soul.
By the time Voldemort reached Draco’s door, a tentative plan had formed. Before last night he had known that he wanted to possess the boy, but now he knew exactly how far into this he was. He needed to own Draco, needed his presence and obedience like he needed air. He knew what he wanted. A fiery Draco at his side, strong and confidant, but totally subservient to his whims. He wanted a powerful consort before whom would tremble their enemies, and yet would kneel before his lord and worship his cock with his mouth any time Voldemort commanded.
Draco would be a terrifying beauty, cold and dangerous. Voldemort knew his boy though. He was still fragile, with his delicate frame and vulnerable eyes. He would need guidance — a strong master to follow. Voldemort would be that for him. He would hold his boy at night, tenderly fucking into him and distracting him when the world became to much for young Draco.
Voldemort braced himself just outside Draco’s door. Their door. To their room. It sounded… perfect. Voldemort found that he was flush with anticipation. He opened the heavy door smoothly, gliding in with a swoosh of dark robes, and the Dark Lord was entirely unprepared for what he found there.
I hope you enjoyed (is that the right word for this shit?) and I am sincerely sorry for the long pause.
Unfortunately, as a person I have a tendency for lateness. However, I promise that I will never orphan this work and leave it with it's shitty aunt and uncle. Also, I will be working very hard to update again soon.
Thank you all so much for sticking around and reading!
Chapter 6: Wardrobe
Draco suffers, Voldemort's a smug asshole, and Harry's creepy.
WARNINGS: Violence, rape, Voldemort voldemorting, and blatant overwriting of an obsessive character.
I feel the need to express that I in no way support or condone rape. But I wrote it, and I warned y'all, so read at your own risk.
DISCLAIMER: characters and world belong to J.K. Rowling. Although I am sure that she does not want her name anywhere near this story. Sorry ma'am.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Draco was curled up in the corner of the room, with his beautiful eyes closed and lips parted slightly. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that Voldemort had not seen yet. The scene felt… peaceful. Like his boy was finally coming to grips with his new reality. A smooth glide across the room led him to stand above Draco’s sleeping form. He looked so small, and Voldemort knew that he himself looked monstrous next to this pale beauty. A giant cloud of black towering above Draco and staring down through slitted eyes.
Once again, the urge to coddle this boy came to mind. It was a feeling the likes of which Voldemort had never experienced. He was simultaneously terrified and thrilled by it. He trailed dry fingers down Draco’s cheek and again over his nose before finally settling two fingers on those pink lips. He traced them slowly, reverently, and wondered at this boy’s ability to captivate him so completely. Surely life was possible without Draco, but he could no longer imagine it. There was no power in the world that could make him give up this precious boy, and soon there would be nothing that could make Draco want to leave him. Voldemort was going to own him — body and soul.
Voldemort slipped the two trailing fingers into Draco’s parted mouth. Softness and warmth quickly surrounded him as he twirled his fingers over Draco’s tongue. Eager, Voldemort pressed in further, and didn’t stop till his knuckles were pressed against pink lips. Draco gagged at the sudden intrusion and shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. Carefully withdrawing his slick fingers, Voldemort sunk down to kneel by Draco. His boy really must be exhausted, because he still showed no sign of waking.
He wondered at what else he could do while Draco was unconscious. Perhaps the realization that he was now completely at the dark lord’s mercy would drive home the realization that Voldemort was his master now. He needed to learn that everything in his life came from his lord. The good things, and the bad. Voldemort smirked, a truly terrifying sight, as he gently drew Draco forward into his embrace. A soft sigh and light movement from Draco followed, but soon enough he was tucked firmly in Voldemort’s arms.
He was content to sit there with Draco, running dry hands over that soft hair and staring down onto that peaceful face. Soon enough though Draco shifted closer in his sleep. His thin fingers grasped lightly at the front of Voldemort’s robes as his face buried itself into the fabric on his shoulder. Warm breathes were puffing out against his neck and Draco murmured sleepily before settling back into his slumber.
It took almost no effort at all once the decision had been made, and so Voldemort wrapped his arms securely around his boy and rose. Draco’s legs, with little prompting, wrapped around his waist as he clung to him. Voldemort moved swiftly to the bed, eagerly anticipating the remainder of this night. After all, he had worked hard and deserved a little downtime. The thought of waking Draco yet was strangely displeasing, so he simply sat down on the bed the swung his legs up and laid back against the pillows. Draco was now cuddled onto of his chest, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten. Voldemort played with that idea as he stroked up and down his boy’s back. It was a pleasing thought, and fit Draco well. Aloof and clawed, a cat would never submit as well as a dog might. But they were proud creatures, beautiful and refined, and once you earned their respect… well, Draco would need a firm hand, but in the end he would be loyal. Voldemort would see to that.
The room was warm, thankfully, with a roaring fire kept ablaze by the house elves. Voldemort knew that he should rouse Draco. He should fuck him and leave; after all he had a lot of very important things to do. His Death Eaters were a few cards short of a full deck, and organizing a war was not easy. So many things he had to do himself. Just look at Bella, his most loyal servant. The woman was his best torturer. After all, she loved it. Hell, Voldemort was pretty sure she got off on it. But she always went overboard: killing the victims before they got any information out of them. If he wasn’t there to oversee, then nothing got done.
Thinking about Bella brought his rising cock down faster than he thought possible. He was now completely soft and beyond irritated. That damn woman and the pile of work that awaited him made it impossible to lay in bed with his love and just enjoy it. Damn it all to hell.
He rose swiftly, yet carefully, from the bed. Draco turned over in his sleep, obviously seeking the body that he had previously been wrapped around. Voldemort moaned at the sight. So much beauty sprawled out before him, and his damn conscious wouldn’t let him disturb the boy’s slumber. At the very least though he could get rid of those ridiculous muggle clothes. He had seen enough of those in his life, and the sight of them on his lovely pureblood made him want to scream.
A smooth flick of his wand removed all the clothing from Draco’s body, and with a swishing motion Voldemort deposited the offending items into the fire. Draco shuddered when the air hit him, but fell asleep again easily in the warm room. Voldemort smiled slightly, oh how adorable Draco was!
Before he left to deal with his followers and the war, Voldemort moved across the room to open up the boy’s wardrobe. He would insure that nothing so vile would ever touch Draco’s skin again. The fabrics in the Malfoy house were nothing but the best, but Voldemort quickly found that he liked the idea of less clothing covering Draco as he threw item after item onto the floor. He ransacked the hanging robes, throwing out all but two. One was clearly meant to be a formal robe, with translucent green fabric that shimmered as he ran his hands over it. Tossing out the dark under-robes was a must, however.
The second robe was a rich blue, with fabric so soft that Voldemort had never felt the like. He could not imagine anything better to wrap around his boy, so he left it hanging as well. Perhaps it was a bit more modest than he desired, but it would feel so good to smooth his hands over Draco as he wore it.
Shoes of every style were thrown into the growing pile, along with every pair of trousers and undergarments. All this trash was used for was covering up Draco’s beauty, and Voldemort would have none of that. He expected Draco would be upset, after all the boy was delightfully spoilt, but Voldemort could provide new things for him. That kitten concept deserved some thought…
A quick evanesco vanished the huge pile. Voldemort shut the nearly empty wardrobe and approached the sleeping boy. He was so peaceful. He eased his hands down Draco’s body, cupping his arse fondly. Draco squirmed beneath him and Voldemort hummed happily. A few moments more and he knew that Draco would be hard and writhing. Oh, to be a teenager again.
Not wanting to wake him, Voldemort removed his hands and left the room, easing the door shut behind him. He summoned one of the manor’s elves, a disgustingly wrinkled creature that bowed and twitched fearfully in his presence. He left orders for the elf to watch over Draco as he slept, and to bring him to him the second he awoke. Trusting the elf’s magic to locate him when the time came, Voldemort swept off in a mess of whirling fabric. He had a war to run.
Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Draco. This whole week had been insane — with Ron getting splinched and invading the Ministry of Magic — yet through it all he keep seeing a pair of enchanting grey eyes. He hadn’t had another dream with Draco in it, and he was happy about it, damn it! There was no way he missed watching Voldemort raping someone; he certainly did not enjoy practically doing it with Draco.
If anything, Harry was mad. Those two had ruined his first time. Yeah, technically Harry was still a virgin, but after experiencing that first person display he didn’t really feel like one anymore. He had always imagined that his first time would be with Ginny, and it would have been sweet and slow and tender. Not violent and horrible and exhilarating.
Shaking off these dark thoughts, Harry focused instead on their victory. They had another piece of Voldemort’s soul now. All the running and hardships were worth it if only he could kill Voldemort at the end. Then he would complete his destiny: he would avenge his parents and save the wizarding world.
And save Draco as well, a spiteful voice inside whispered. he will be so grateful, he could be mine.
“Harry,” Hermione shouted. “Harry!”
“Huh, what?” Harry shook himself out of his thoughts, which once again had turned towards Draco. Such an appealing thought…
“Are you listening? We need to switch now, give the necklace to Ron.”
Reluctantly handing it over, Harry watched Ron slide the thing over his head. The two of them ducked out of the tent, ignoring him once again. Never had Harry felt like such a third wheel. This whole summer had been like this, the two lovebirds slinking away whenever they got the chance. He knew they would prefer it if he left and let them have the tent but damn it, Harry wasn’t going to spend his miserable summer isolated from everyone and banished from his cot. He hadn’t felt this alone since he had lived with the Dursleys as a child.
Outside Ron and Hermione were whispering at a furious pace. Harry didn’t care enough to try and listen in; if they had something to say to him they knew where he was. Instead, he sunk back into his pillow and drew up his memories of that dream. Palming at himself slowly, he fought of the guilt. It wasn’t hurting anyone, and he deserved some relief! Those terrified eyes drew to the front of his mind’s eye, and Harry settled back into the memory.
Elsewhere, Draco was just beginning to stir from his nap. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, and the first thing he noticed is that he was in bed, with no memory of having moved here. He must have fallen asleep in the corner after he changed clothes. Clothes. Where where his clothes! Draco bolted upright, looking frantically around the room. His clothes were nowhere to be seen, and he was alone except for the house elf by the door.
“You there, what the hell hap…”
Before he could so much as blink, the elf had gripped him by his wrist and with a loud crack they apparated. A blinding whir of color consumed them, and Draco felt his body become solid once again with a sickening landing in the middle of the his father’s study. The house elf disappeared before Draco could get his bearings. The first thing he saw once his eyes focused on his surroundings was the horrible facade of the Dark Lord, sitting calmly at his father’s desk and smirking lustfully. The reason became apparent a moment later as Voldemort’s eyes tracked up and down his body and Draco became aware of his stark nakedness.
He also noticed the people in the room as his hands shot to cover his bits. They were all, of course, staring at the naked boy who had appeared in their midst. All of the top Death Eaters were present, including Lucius, so the meeting was obviously very important. Draco turned away from his father’s gaze as soon as their eyes met. He was to ashamed and could not bear to see Lucius’s reaction. Had he kept looking, he would have seen the panic, sorrow, and fear flash across the man’s face before a blank mask slammed down to hide his reaction.
The other death eaters where stirring excitedly. Had the Dark Lord arranged for the boy to be brought here? They all knew by now of Draco’s new position; he was Voldemort’s little whore. Perhaps their lord meant to share?
Draco met Voldemort’s stare for all of two seconds before staring at the floor. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He needed to say something, anything, but he was to afraid. What was going to happen? Half of Draco’s mind was sure that he was about to be brutally gang raped by these men. Maybe Voldemort had tired of him? The fear and regret following that thought was surprising yet justified.
The other half was certain that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He would probably be punished for it, but he didn’t care as long as he got out of here. The Dark Lord had seemed so… possessive the night before. There was no way he would share him, right? It had to be a mistake.
Draco’s breath was coming in great gasps now. He was clearly panicking, much to the amusement of the assembled Death Eaters. Lucius remained studiously devoid of emotion. Voldemort could not stop staring at Draco. He was marvelously naked. It hadn’t been his intention to have the boy dragged here in the nude but the elf had obviously followed his orders to the letter.
He let the boy shake under the heavy gazes of his followers. He could sense their arousal and bloodlust rising. It was a heavy scent in the air and the ideas he was picking out of their minds were beyond sinful. Their sick desires amused him, but still, Draco was his. They needed to understand that Draco was beyond them now. He was more than their lord’s calamite, he was his partner. A beloved treasure that they would respect and die for. They could lust, but they needed to know that he was not theirs to touch.
Draco needed to realize that Voldemort would protect him. He should not be afraid of these lesser wizards and witches in his masters presence. Merlin, his boy should not even notice them. All of his attention should always be on his lord; focused completely on his wants and pleasure. He was going to become Draco’s entire world, until there was nothing and no one else in his life.
“Draco,” he bit out. “Here.” A loud snap drew Draco’s gaze, shocked and afraid, to the space between Voldemort’s legs. He was frozen in space. The murders surrounding him were terrifying, but the idea of fleeing into Voldemort’s arms was obviously more so. Greyback, a beast of a man, licked his chapped lips and growled low in his chest, reaching out his clawed hand as if to touch the pale expanse of Draco’s exposed chest. The boy started, eyes growing impossibly wide and filling with tears as he darted to Voldemort’s side.
The Dark Lord let out an inner crow of victory. Draco hadn’t run to his father, or to the door, he had run to him. He grinned at Greyback as he drew the boy firmly to his side. Granted, if the werewolf had touched his jewel he would already be dead. But as things turned out, the creatures actions were just the spur Draco needed.
He could feel Draco’s warm body shuddering against his side. The atmosphere of the room was tense, with dozens of Death Eaters looking on. Voldemort ignored them. They could wait.
Turning to Draco, he looked at his boy’s red face and downcast eyes. His small hands were drawn forward as he attempted to cover himself from the gazes in the room. Unknowingly, this presented them with an excellent view of his perfect arse. Poor dear, so naive, he wouldn’t have the first clue as to the depraved thoughts running through the minds of the assembled Death Eaters.
Finally deciding Draco had had enough of their gaze, Voldemort drew him closer to himself. He tilted up Draco’s chin and forced him to meet his gaze. Those grey eyes were no longer defiant; they were scared, confused, and lost. Clearly searching for some semblance of stability that Voldemort was more than happy to provide.
He pushed on Draco’s shoulders and the boy lowered himself to the floor space between Voldemort’s legs. He was now practically under the large desk, and Voldemort nudged him backwards just a bit as he slide his chair forwards. He stroked that silky hair as a reward. His Draco was being so obedient and calm. It was obvious that he was thankful that the Dark Lord was shielding him from wandering eyes by sticking him under the desk. It was what Draco needed, and Voldemort was more than happy to provide.
“Carry on, Rodolphus; we are all anxious to hear how the Order has been working on Ministry relations.” His harsh tone made Draco flinch, but Voldemort soothed him once again by running his fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly.
The slimy Lestrange began speaking on every rumor their spies in the Ministry had reported. They were numerous: every time a suspected member of the Order had a conversation with anyone of importance it was reported back to his ‘spy master’. How pitiful that this little man was the best he could do. In the new world, his following would be vast and extremely competent.
Between his knees, Draco’s breathing had slowed down to a much calmer tempo. Voldemort continued his calming strokes, but drew the boy’s head to lean against his inner thigh. Right next to his engorged cock. The momentary struggle was quickly ended as he yanked Draco’s head into place with a handful of hair. The boy let out a small yelp and then was still. He didn’t try to draw away again after that.
Voldemort could feel his warm breath on his dick, and it felt amazing. He wished he could see Draco’s wide eyes and those trembling lips. The sight of Draco submitting and taking his length into that perfect mouth would almost be enough to make him cum by itself, but he didn’t want to rush this. After all, this was Draco’s reward for coming to him, and his own reward for listening to this boring spiel.
Voldemort rubbed Draco’s face over his clothed erection again and again until the fabric was wet with precum and what he could only assume were the boy’s tears. The silly child was so inexperienced, but Voldemort was not going to hold that against him. This way he could teach his love all everything, and he would never have to think about Draco with someone else. The very thought of it sent a white flash of pure rage straight through him. Draco was his!
Lestrange stuttered in his report as Voldemort grunted lightly at the feel of lips running up and down his length. A glare in his direction sent the spineless man fumbling back into his speech, but Voldemort could see Rodolphus’s erection tenting his robes. The Dark Lord grinned at Draco’s affect on his Death Eaters. He tightened his grip on that blonde hair and pressed Draco down harder upon him with renewed urgency.
The grip on his hair hurt. As soon as he felt those finger tighten and pull his head towards the crotch in front of him Draco knew this was going to end badly. His scalp was tender and aching from being pulled about, but he acknowledged that there was no other way he would be rubbing his mouth over this giant cock otherwise. He could smell the Dark Lord’s arousal and it made him sick. Even worse was the knowledge that there was a crowd of people just a few feet away. His own father was one of them!
Voldemort thrust his hips forward slightly and Draco gasped at the sudden pressure against his face. The wet spot on the black robes was growing larger and the dampness leaked onto his face wherever it touched. The last time Draco had seen this cock it had been ripping him apart from the inside, and he dreaded this more than he thought possible. He could not go through this again! His breathing was getting harder and harder to control as he gasped harshly in and out, but this action only seemed to excite the Dark Lord further.
Draco felt a moment of hope when one hand released it’s hold on his hair, only to have it crushed when those deathly pale fingers rushed to open the buttons in front of his face. A few seconds later enough were undone to allow that giant cock to spring free: fully upright and an angry red at the tip. It was leaking precum at an impressive rate, but Draco was to terrified to really notice.
Another harsh pull on his hair brought his lips against it, and Draco could feel precum smearing across his face. He thought briefly about denying what the dark lord so clearly wanted, and thought even more briefly about biting that damned thing, but the thought of it sent tremors of fear through his already shaking body. Voldemort would hurt him, and Draco could not deal with pain right now. He already felt so sore and afraid. Much more and he feared he would break.
So it was that with only a few moments of resistance, Draco opened his mouth and allowed the dark lord’s weeping cock into his mouth. The taste of precum exploded on his tongue. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he knew that he wanted to end this as quickly as possible. Tentative licks around the head made the fingers in his hair grasp him tighter, and he was forced to take more in. Only half way, yet Draco was already feeling an ache in his jaw. His ability to swallow was a bit impeded and he could feel his saliva coating the hard length generously.
He sucked hesitantly and the sound of it made him wince. It was so dirty, but the pulsing of the dark lord’s cock clearly showed that he was enjoying his efforts. Feeling slightly emboldened, Draco began to bob his head up and down on that slick length, with only minimal guidance from the hands pressing on the back of his head. The ache in his jaw persisted as he slowly brought his lord closure to orgasim.
Above the table he was pressed under Draco could hear the shifting of various death eaters. The idea of them being up there, hearing the wet sounds of the dark lord’s cock driving into his mouth, made Draco flush a violent pink. He could never face his father again. As for the rest of them, he was terrified of their intents. Now that he was… whatever he was, he was sure that the more sadistic among them would be only to happy to torture Lucius’s kid. The Malfoy’s had not made many friends among the ranks of the death eaters.
The dark lord stiffened abruptly, before tightening his grip further and pressing his cock in deeper than ever before. Draco could feel the huge thing poking at the back of his throat before sliding down, choking him. His throat spasmed around it, and Voldemort grunted lightly above him. His head was now being moved, controlled completely by his lord. The dark lord pulled out momentarily, and Draco drew in a great gasping breathe, and then the cock was slamming back down his throat. Again, he choked around it. He could feel his spit leaking out between his lips, and his lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.
This time, the dark lord was not pulling him up. Draco drew his own hands up from his lap and pushed futilely against Voldemort’s thighs. He was making aborted gasping noises as his body attempted to breath around the obstruction in his throat. Feeling light headed, Draco felt the crazy urge to giggle, even as he panicked. He was going to die choking on a cock. What ever was his mother going to think.
Things were going a bit dark, with bright spots dancing in his blurry vision, as he choked violently. His throat spasmed around the intruder and Draco’s eyes welled up with tears. Just as he felt like his body was going to explode, the dick in his mouth hardened even more before spurting a load of hot cum down his abused throat.
Voldemort, that sadistic fuck, kept his head pressed down on his groin until he softened. The second he released his hair Draco shot backwards, gasping in air even as his stomach roiled. He wiped at his face to find it covered in cum, saliva, sweat, and tears.
Voldemort only gave him moments to recover before gently grabbing his hand and bringing it to his still limp cock. He tightened his grip in warning when Draco failed to react, and so Draco leaned forward once more. Draco cautiously grabbed the thing, and eased it back into the dark lord’s robes. Obviously pleased, Voldemort petted his head once more, and let Draco recover, panting, with his head once again pressed against his thigh.
He didn’t even try to fight the dark lord this time. Draco felt, almost relieved, to be able to simply rest against his lord and have a comforting hand soothed through his hair again and again. It was obvious that Voldemort was pleased with him. So, ignoring his own trembling limbs, Draco relaxed into it and sat at the lord’s feet; content to sit out the rest of this meeting in stunned silence. He felt a bit numb, but the touch on his head was pleasant, and the robs his head rested upon were soft, so Draco settled in for as long as needs be.
Above him, Voldemort smirked, quite happy with the way things were progressing. It was all working out so well for him.
So, that's that. Hope you 'enjoyed'
I have a spanish paper due tomorrow and a freaking linguistics worksheet, so I am going to proofread tomorrow. Please ignore silly little mistakes, but if you see a huge one let me know? Thanks y'all.