Warning: This piece of fanfiction contains questionable themes such as sexual/non-sexual relationships between two males, abuse of power, angst, violence and swearing.
Disclaimer: If you still have not yet got this straight, Harry belongs to Draco, and they both belong to you-know-who.
This is in a story set in an Alternate Universe.
The Geneva Conventions provide for humane treatment of civilians, prisoners, and wounded persons in wartime. The first Geneva Convention was signed in 1864. Guns were invented around the 1300s. Chemicals like formalin (formaldehyde) and lye were not present then. Equipment, such as lighters were also not used. This piece is not intentionally anachronistic. You can choose to assume that it is set in another world, with developments unlike our own.
Dedications: This is for Malfoyslave who I promised this chapter would be out for. She was wonderfully supportive of "Traits of a Malfoy" and also sent one of her lovely femslash stories for me to read.
Draco sat stiffly in his chamber, his thoughts drifting to the news his messenger had brought. The Gryffindors were losing, so it seemed, but here were rumours that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be joining in the fray. That shifted the perspective a little, even if he had been expecting it all this while. Folding his arms, he glared stiffly at the door, as if the offending piece had done anything at all.
The rebel had looked nonplussed, almost unaffected when the news was broken, but there were worry lines gracing his forehead now. Time was ungracious, and though the Deatheaters would arrive to aid them soon, he feared they would be a trifle too late. He still resented the fact that the Gryffindors had managed to prevent their rebellion and kick them ungraciously off the land. He was even more offended by the fact that they had then decided to divide the country into three individual states, Gryffindor being the largest.
Incensed by the very thoughts, Draco colourfully cursed Dumbledore to his grave. It was ridiculous how that meddling lump of a fool had managed to come into power in the first place. Many strings were being pulled behind the seemingly innocent political façade. Don't waste your anger on him Draco; a voice reminded slyly, you have other matters to think about.
Just then, a knock resounded on his door and nudged him back to the present. His instinctual reaction was to reach for his dagger. Pulling on an impassive expression, he gave permission for the caller to enter. The news the caller gave him made him break out into a malicious grin. The blacksmith had been exceptionally quick – he had been prepared for part of Draco's request.
"Ready for some warm-up?" Came a voice drifting into his awareness.
For his ill-fated part, Harry did not know how long he had been sleeping, much less the hours or days he had been strung up on crude display. Drifting between periods of fitful consciousness and disturbed slumbers had not helped him to regain the proper use of his senses. Comforted by the fact that seeing his arms meant they were still there, he chose to remain stubbornly silent.
Draco smiled to himself, watching the prisoner trying to crack open his eyes. Three days without food had made Harry weak, but not ready to surrender. The point served to make the Slytherin even more determined to break Harry, and make Harry his. This however was really not his idea to begin with, for all he wanted was information on his father. Somehow though, with the consistent urging of Nicholase, it had turned out to be something far more sinister.
Remember, what is it you want?
Swiftly, Draco walked over and unlocked the chains around Harry's wrist. Both arms immediately fell to haphazardly to his side, like puppet parts uncontrolled by the puppeteer. They dropped like two chunks of lead, sending bizarre sensations into his shoulder blades. Harry felt the blood slowly flowing down his arms and into his fingers. A million ants seemed to be crawling under his skin and prickly, his arms itched. Then there was a hot sensation and thousands of pieces seemed to shatter within his arms, like glass smashed against an unrelenting wall.
Draco watched, knowingly.
Gingerly Harry curled and uncurled his fingers, trying to induce feeling back into them. He rotated his wrist tentatively and wobbled his arms. Very soon, he started stretching the full length of his body; blissfully unaware of the hungry looks Draco was directing at him as the Slytherin observed his movements intently.
"I'll have to make the balm," Draco muttered to himself as he ran his eyes down the wounds upon Harry's upper body. Ironically they were the very same wounds that he himself had given. Despite Nicholase's silent protest, Draco argued that they were indeed deeper and more serious than usual.
"What?" Harry inquired, not managing to catch Draco's words.
Surprised that his hostage had heard that, Draco hurriedly transfixed his face into a sneer. "None of your business Potter. Scum like you have the right to remain silent in my domain."
The retort died on Harry's lips when Draco stepped forward and attached his mouth onto them. Draco felt Harry's body invariably stiffen under him and he grabbed hold of Harry's wrist to push them against the wall, preventing any weak resistance. Unfeeling and harsh, the kiss only served as a reminder of happier times to the pained Gryffindor. Before Harry actually realized, he was back into his previous position, with all four limbs firmly secured to the wall.
Draco stepped back and clapped his hands once for Blaise to bring in a wooden box. After mechanically setting the box onto the floor, he quietly melted back into the shadows. Harry noticed warily that that most of the Slytherins had a habit of blending into the dark, as if they were one with it. Briefly he wondered if somewhere along his own intensive training, he had acquired that same skill for more often than not, he found that the unobtrusive darkness called to him.
"Let me first introduce a good friend of mine." Here Draco bent down and opened the lid. "He has been around for quite a little while after getting too excited during one of our private sessions."
Harry's eye widened as Draco brought out a skull, with areas of it still coated in reddish brown-substance. What was the most disquieting fact was that the skeletal piece still retained its dual eyes and as he stared, the milky whites of the dead man's eyes gazed back at him. Harry never once took his eyes off the skull, which gave an odd leering glare. He blanched when Draco tenderly stroked the back of it and smiled.
"Thomas Dickson," he grinned, almost boyishly, " Meet Harry Potter." He paused as if waiting for an acknowledgement. " And Potter, say hello to Dickson."
When he received no response from the black-haired man, Draco forcefully grabbed hold of Harry's chin and pierced his gaze into the emerald one.
"When I command you to do something, you do as I say."
Yours Draco. Make him yours.
At Nicholase's urging, Draco's eyes narrowed to slits and he placed what was left of Thomas down before giving the defiant offender a tight slap. Harry's left cheek smashed into the wall and his glasses flew off, leaving his vision ungraciously blurred. Draco split into three moving figures, prancing in sheer viciousness before his eyes. Face smarting, he winced as he felt a slow trickle of blood slide down his cheek.
"That will teach you…" Draco paused abruptly. "Those eyes, you have those eyes, they.. they.."
Taken aback at Draco's sudden change in tone, Harry was silent. He squinted and thought he saw a trace of confusion on the blond's face. But it disappeared like a door shutting firmly shut on an outsider. Following the quick disguise of emotions, Harry was quick to attribute it to a trick of the eye as Draco altered his stance again. He hated himself for hoping that it would have been better, hated for thinking that his enemy could feel like any other human.
Menacingly, the Slytherin leader advanced towards Harry, a silver object held between his fingers. On it was a dragon, carved regally on one side. Its eyes were green, studded emerald. There was a clink as Draco threw it up and caught it deftly between his middle and index finger. His ring hit hollowly against the metal, breaking the insipid silence. With a dexterous flick of his wrist, the object revealed a flame, glowing gently within. Something about the way Draco handled the lighter made Harry cautious. The Slytherin's expertise clearly showed that he had done that many times before – far too many times for comfort. The flame drew nearer to Harry's face, and with each dance, Harry felt his eyes wandering, becoming more unfocused.
In a movement barely seen by the naked eye, Draco coaxed the flame into a renewed fervor. Slowly, leisurely, he placed the flame just beneath Harry's fingers, the same ones that only just started to regain their awareness of the surrounding. The warmth, or rather the heat, lingered just long enough for the burning sensation to cling at his skin, but not long enough to scar.
"Pretty, pretty, pretty," Draco breathed. "Those fingers. Better not move them too much, or they may just lose their use."
The blaze traveled excruciatingly steadily, up Harry's arm, near his elbow, then his biceps. He could smell the hair burn; hear the sizzle as they were reduced to little spots of crinkled black blobs. Prancing mockingly at the skin near his neck, then down as it grazed lightly around his chest, the flame wound its disdainful descend. He squirmed, unable to bear the heat, and yet incapable of escape.
Indifferent as the flame, the blond pushed the lighter closer to Harry's skin. The naked light wound it way, casually at first, around Harry's right nipple, embracing the taut cherry nub. A keening noise found its way into Harry's throat as it got hot, too hot. Mockingly, he felt the cool metal pressed in the area under his nipple, as Draco let the flame continue to encircle the sensitive spot. He pulled at the chains at his wrist, although the old abrasions started to sting again.
"M-mal-l-foy," Harry croaked. "You son-of-a-bit…"
Cold fingers closed around his throat, effectively cutting off his speech.
"Don't. Don't you even try insulting my parents," the Slytherin growled hotly. "You'll pay Potter, you'll pay. For that slip of your tongue."
The putrid smell of burning flesh snaked into Harry's nostrils. Briefly, he even wondered if he was on the battlefield again, where the smell of flaming napalm seemed to always blanket over him. He blinked, and was jolted back to the dank cell where he was kept captive. A searing pain had reached his arm, and its intensity multiplied by the second. The animalistic howl that left his parched lips was new to even his own ears. He became aware that even if his arm were a mile long, every inch of it would still burn with the same overpowering ferocity.
A voice, there was a voice trying to speak to him. However in that afflicted state, only waves of static registered in his mind. Suddenly he felt a hand move swiftly inward, and seize the flaccid sponge of his mind within the grip of a velvet-gloved arm. Silent static closed over consciousness… …and then faded.
Draco Malfoy watched his prisoner with a somewhat satisfactory smile. The master always determines the pleasure of the slave, as well as pain. Fires were such beautiful things, and they helped create such wonderful masterpieces.
"So very pretty," he could not help himself from saying.
Like a spider's legs, Draco's fingers walked its way up Harry's right arm. On the tanned skin remained the markings where he had gripped Harry's arm too tightly. Above that was a lovely new scar. He, being in a foul mood previously had left the hot iron for a longer period of time than usual. The wound that would subsequently fade into a permanent scar resembled a bar-code, aside from the fact that it was his name instead of the usual numbers that was stitched onto it.
Dropping the bar onto the floor, he indicated for the guards to clear up the excrement, as well as tidy the equipment. After all, what fun was there for the both of them, when Harry was clearly Beyond the brink of consciousness.
"So," he murmured seductively. "Who am I?"
"I'll give you another chance. Who am I to you?"
A forced laugh escaped from Harry's cracking lips. "Malfoy, don't ask stupid questions. You are my enemy. A Slytherin. A rebel. A fucking dirty-handed bastard."
"The longest thing you have said here, but pity, they are all wrong Potter. All wrong." Draco laughed as he cut Harry's last piece of clothing and let it drop to the floor. "We shall see about 'dirty-handed' though."
An arm snaked around Harry's waist and drew him closer to his nemesis. His bare chest came into brief contact with Draco's and a slight chill ran up his spine. Who knew what that insane blond might actually do to him. Draco's tongue flicked out and licked a spot on Harry's face.
"Oh hmm. It tastes salty. Have you been crying Potter?"
Harry flashed a look of contempt, which Draco easily ignored. He unchained one of Harry's hands and placed it into a bowl of fresh water.
"How does water that you can't drink feel?"
Only then, did Harry try to fight back. All too suddenly, something that had slipped his mind barreled back with full force. His eyes moved sharply and saw the marred skin. Where once was a perfect tan, now a deep mark lay across it. Draco Malfoy. How could he?. How could he brand him like an animal?
"What the fuck have you done to my arm?" growled Harry.
"Shhhh. Objects don't ask questions."
Flattening his palm against Harry's lips, Draco silenced him effectively. Harry however, was in a state of denial so raw that he had no time to think. There was anger, red-hot anger at his enemy, and there was also this overwhelming mortification that burned and radiated from that dreadful mark.
Unaware of the raging confusion and fury that plagued his captive's mind, Draco leisurely brought Harry's hand to his mouth. His lips closed around Harry's index finger and with exquisite care, he begun to suckle it. His tongue swirled around the finger as he drew lazy circles in Harry's upturned palm. The sensation was oddly gentle. Draco gloated inwardly, as he felt Harry's entire hand trembling, and yet making no effort to pull away.
No, this isn't right. Pull it away, pull it away, pull it away, Harry's mind yelled but it was reduced to incoherency as Draco's attention shifted elsewhere. With Harry's wrist still tightly held in his hand, Draco pushed himself forward, so that the only thing that separated them both was Harry's bent arm.
There was a pause in his perusal. "Go on Potter. You can stop me if you want."
Uncertainly Harry glanced down at his own limb that was frozen in its position. Moments ago, he wanted to slit a knife down Draco's cruel face. But now, even as he wanted to shove his tormentor away with the remnants of his strength, his mind would not cooperate. It was the only comfort in the dank room, and he clung to it desperately despite how it pained him.
A long slim finger tapped his chest impatiently and that voice that came with it impaled Harry. "Potter," it breathed, "I take inertia as your consent."
Fingers tiptoed across his bare chest, making Harry shiver; in fear or in anticipation, he could not tell. The hand slithered down his upper body and paused at his waistline. He leaned unconsciously into the touch, skin blazing guilty. Another hand joined the first, and as they did an elaborate dance across his abdomen, he felt himself jerk. They traced the bruised skin in the mockery of love. There were so warm and so light that a fine line of electricity rose between the surfaces. Something warm pooled in his lower region, causing him to gasp. The heat – no it could not be – but evidently was, started to accumulate and Harry desperately fought for control.
"Say you want me Potter. Say you want your master," Draco whispered.
Harry shuddered. " I-I-I- won't." But it had taken so much efforts just to utter those two words.
Draco slid his hand to the small of Harry's back, pulling them dangerously close. Harry was only agonizingly aware of Draco's warm chest pushed against his, as well as the rough material of Draco's trousers rubbing mercilessly against his arousal. Oh heavens, I need control, he thought. However there was none in his raging body as he bucked his hips against Draco.
Suddenly, he snapped his eyes open and spat at Draco. "Stop."
The angry grey eyes glared at him. "You still haven't told me who I am," Draco snarled. "And I will extract the answer out of you. Whether you like it or not."
A squeeze was felt at the tip of his cock, and before he could understand what was happening, skilled fingers pulled at a languorous pace. A moan slipped unconsciously past his lips, and he tried to clamp down the waves of pleasure that were lolling recklessly in him. Brushes, almost tender in nature made him clench his fists tightly. He was vaguely aware that his right arm was uselessly hanging at his side, even though he could have very well used it to shove the other man way, As a hand expertly enveloped his shaft, a devilish voice spoke in his head. But you don't want to stop, it murmured, you enjoy it, whore.
Harry choked, an incoherent noise involuntarily released as a short fast stroke was administered after a slow languid one. The intensity of the strokes increased as he felt the fingers move fast and faster, a dancer pivoting crazily. The hand bunched up the skin all the way to the top, and squeezed. His inner strength caved in, and his muscles rippled with pleasure as he felt himself reaching the edge. However, a sudden sharp point embedded in his flesh sent him reeling back to reality. Shocked was splayed in his expression as he saw the end of a dagger, embedded near the tip of his penis. He winced, breath hitching in his throat as the blade dug deeper into his skin.
"Who am I," Draco commanded, his voice tinged with an indiscernible urgency.
"Malfoy," Harry rasped. "Draco Malfoy."
Annoyed by the defiance present in his captive's voice, Draco blithely brought the whole blade down, leaving a diagonal line in Harry's member. An agonized yell flew from Harry's lungs, when Draco followed it with a long hard stroke.
There was a burst of colour in front of his hooded eyes. A warm stream of pleasure that shot from his abdomen to his groin tickled his whole being. There was nothing, except the feeling in his body, the release of some animalistic instinct oppressed within him that shot currents of static electricity throughout his physical body.
Harry lost himself.
He cried out the very word he had never wanted to leave his lips as his juices spurted onto Draco's palm, slicking it. Harry clenched his eyes both in pain and in humiliation. It was almost unbelievable that he had an orgasm under his captor's hand. But reality was such, and in reality, the one and only Draco Malfoy had made Harry Potter succumb to the weakness of his flesh.
"Hey Vincent, pay up. Our little friend came in less than fifteen minutes."
"Damn, I thought the almighty Harry Potter had better resolve."
A chuckle. "It appears not. Draco always manages to get on top of things."
The second voice laughed. "C'mon, lets get going before Draco finds us here. Plus, I have tr get rid of the little bit of a problem I got down here."
Linking arms, the two man lumbered away from their cleverly designed 'peephole'.
Whore. Whore. Whore. The word repeated itself over and over in his mind, like a mantra and Harry dropped his head. He felt used, and exactly like an unfaithful dog. He was Draco's bitch, a very unwilling part of him admitted and even in his tiredness, the resentment he had for his enemy as well as himself flooded his body.
"Potter. Well, well. Look what you have done. My hand is dirtied. Wouldn't you like to take back what is rightfully yours?"
Harry fixed his emerald eyes on Draco's grey ones. Spokes of golden fire stood erect in the backs of both eyes, as if the corneal grates, which normally screened delicate emotions from the world, were now chemically wrenched open. "I HATE you."
Smirking Draco lifted his palm into Harry's face. "Clean up the mess."
Seeing the combination of blood and semen on the Slytherin's outstretched hand made Harry's mouth shut like a clam. There was no way he was going to swallow that down. His pride had taken more than enough shattering for that day. The dreaded sound of silence stretched and the mixture dripping off Draco's palm seemed like seconds ticking off a clock. Trying furtively to distract himself from the parts of him that ached and stung, Harry's eyes followed the trail of each descending droplet. Every time a blob fell to the floor, his shame sunk heavier.
Impatience soon overtook the virile young blonde and he grabbed Harry's jaw. "Look at me."
Forcing his eyes to stay trained on Draco, Harry mustered the defiance within. Draco however had no patience for that nonsense. Yanking down Harry's jaw, he cleaned three fingers on Harry's tongue, and smeared the rest on Harry's dry puffy lips.
"Take your essence," he sneered.
Weakly Harry tried to heave Draco away, but Draco gripped the spot with his branding on it, causing Harry to writhe terribly in his grasp. Shame blanketed him once more as he felt his wrist attached again to the wall. The shame was derived from the newfound knowledge that the pain he had felt, and the sensations that had ran through him, gave him a sick, twisted sense of pleasure. A sheen of dullness now marred those once brightly coloured eyes.
Never once turning back, Draco left leaving Harry with a menacing parting phrase: "You're mine."
The walls revolved, faded, reemerged and sluggishly metamorphosed into a mixture that bled like cheap dye. As Harry drifted off into an uneasy imitation of sleep, between his nervous eyelids he envisioned the ugly darkness of the cell was brighter than the irises of Draco's eyes.
"Blaise," Draco called into the shadows, and a figure materialized to follow him to his private chambers.
A/N: Despite the kind words of reviewers, I think this story is likely to be abandoned or put on hiatus after this chapter. It is indeed taking too much out of me, and although five chapters are already on the computer, I don't think I can keep up. I am sorry to those who have supported it thus far. Reviews and encouragement have helped me tremendously, and it might help now, but I cannot guarantee anything. All blame is mine.
As it is customary of me to thank my reviewers because they have been awesome in their encouragement, here goes:
Hypersensitive: You, as always, are lovely. I can't thank you enough for your continuous support and fic dedication
Relle: KILL ffnet. Have you seen their 'site update' note? Its evil.
Eyriess: Thank you for your compliments. Both rewritten and reposted, so is this chapter. I do hope I won't be a great disappointment if I really stop. Its the same direction though, just little add-ons. Salt's lovely my dear. Heh.
Crybaby-xx: The review was delightful. I'm glad you thought it interesting.
Anitra Pachelbel: Thank you for the fav. =)
Fyrelement: Extraordinarily written? Rare? Wow, you're fantastic. I can't believe you think so highly of me, even going to call it 'exquisite'. Honoured that you dropped by, and thank you so much for your encouragements.
Lost Gryfindor: Girl you rock, have you got a plot yet?
XiaoBai: Yep, he's not totally that way though. It'll come out in later chaps, I think. I know. Salt on a small wound hurts enough. Thank you once again. =)
Quirkerstein: Unedited parts on on paper though. Heh. Ouch to ffnet. It's just done the same to a friend. Turn on? Wonderful, I accomplished something. The lovely praise made my day dear, and quirks we all have indeed.
Lil' Eowyn: Thank you once again for another lovely review. =)
Emerald Tigriss: Actually, its only be taken down once. ;) Thank you for the fav.
Devilserpent: I agree, but I'm a little lazy now. Thank you for the review.
Thank-yous also sail out to nocturnium13, Siren of the Darknessflame, Shadow Kitty, Eliza, lilypurewhite, sinner, AquaSpirit, ura, lurk i do and Sam.
As such, I will be discontinuing this more or less. Sorry.