TBGCTBGC
He Defines Me
Chapter Fourteen
Lucius stared at himself in the mirror, fingering the tiny white scars marring his otherwise perfect reflection. He’d already tried five healing spells and a concealment charm but they refused to go away. Thank god it had been wandless magic or they might not have healed at all. When Voldemort had first shown the boy to him, a tiny baby resting peacefully in the arms of the man who killed his parents, the Lord had said there was great power there. Lucius had never been so bold as to outright not believe him, but Voldemort had made damn sure that power never so much as made an appearance.
Turning to look at the boy on the bed, he shrugged his cloak on. Voldemort was blind when it came to that child, treating ‘it’ like a pet, pretending ‘it’ was nothing more than a rather large cat he could fuck. Lucius had fallen into the same trap for a while, less than a year, right up until ‘it’ started talking. The first time the little child had seen him come into the room and pointed proudly, yelling "Mister Malfoy!" and sounding so much like his own tiny son, the death eater had lost his delusion.
Lucius walked from the doorway to the bed, staring at the boy’s back as he lay among the comforters, shaking almost imperceptibly. He cast a lazy cleaning charm, sliding his wand over the skin and watching the matted cum and sweat dissolve. It was such perfect skin. He moved around to the other side, staring at the emotionless face in distaste.
It had been the never ending supply of optimism that had made it so easy for Lucius to forget it was a child, not just any child, Potter’s child. He’d never acted like a Potter. The few times Lucius had been left in charge he’d found that no matter what happened he would smile. He’d been starved for three days, had no contact of any kind for two weeks, fucked senseless every night for most of his life, never allowed to leave the tight confines of one small room, never even permitted to open a window, and yet he smiled; he smiled and laughed like a happy kitten that quickly forgot its master’s transgressions.
Something in him was angry at the boy. He supposed that it was due partially to the fact that his face would never be the same, but the scars weren’t too bad, in fact, he might decide he liked them eventually. He was mad because when the child had fought back, bared the claws he had kept hidden, he had been so human, so normal, like any other child being raped and abused.
Lucius wanted that again. He wasn’t sure why, but staring at the boy’s passive expression, blank, though slightly pained, he just wanted him to fight back, to do or say anything. Flipping the boy onto his stomach he probed him roughly with the wand, healing the inner wounds.
Harry was vaguely aware that Lucius was hurting him, but he wasn’t sure that it mattered anymore. He wasn’t sure that anything mattered. Master had ordered it and what Harry wanted did not matter, could not matter. He was returned to his back and the scratches on his chest were violently rubbed with a quick healing salve. Master cared for him, Master fed him, Master made sure he was never cold or dirty, Master bought him toys to keep him occupied. Master cared. He had to.
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Voldemort picked at the steamed vegetables on his plate. He’d been staring at them for half an hour now and his stomach still refused him. Oh well, it wasn’t like he’d managed to get a full meal down in the past month anyway.
Pushing it away he listened to the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. So, Lucius was finished already. Anger welled up in the Dark Lord’s chest, but he forced it down. He had ordered the man to punish his pet, so why was he so upset now that it was done. Why had knowing what Lucius was doing made eating so difficult?
There was a reason the death eater was his right hand man, maybe Lucius was correct and the pet was a weakness. It had been the other man’s idea to use the hypnosis spell when taking the pet from Hogwarts. Voldemort had gone along with the plan, more to placate Lucius, seeing as he had spent so long working on it. But the moment he saw its face, that first glimpse of fear before the trance had taken hold, he had known Lucius was correct. As he set his fork down and watched the other man sit at the table across from him, he decided it hardly mattered. In fact, knowing Lucius was right only made it worse.
Intending to ask how everything went, despite the fact he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, he turned to Lucius and stopped. Four pale white, thick lines marked his left cheek, running across the prominent cheek bone. Voldemort was almost positive he’d never seen so much as a scratch on the death eater. Even through the four day battle right after the Potter’s death that had ended in a very physical struggle when all magical resources had been expended Lucius had not been so much as bruised. "What happened to your face?"
Rested his head on his chin, the death eater looked at his lord sarcastically, "Your little pet has claws." Lucius stroked the slightly upraised skinned with one finger, "You were right about the collar, it was necessary. The scars are permanent and they can’t be obscured. It’s a damn good thing he didn’t know what he was doing."
Well, that was interesting, he’d have to clip its nails before playing with it again. He’d also have to look into another collar, one that it couldn’t take off, but there was time for that later.
A plate of food appeared in front of Lucius, but the man seemed as reluctant as Voldemort had been to actually eat it. He did, however, pick up the fork and poke at the rare steak, watching the blood move around the plate. It was rather disturbing, they looked like quiet the depressing pair. He could not remember a time, not even after their first major defeat, that the two of them had been such a sad sight. Well, better anger and revenge than morose and melancholy.
Standing up, Voldemort started to walk out, stopping at the doorway, and well out of immediate reach, "Lucius?"
Malfoy raised his head slowly. He didn’t like the sound of his Lord’s voice, it was the voice he always used when he was amusing himself with others' misery. "Were your aware of your son’s relationship with the traitor?"
Voldemort could literally see Lucius stiffen, "No more than any other student, my Lord."
"Hmm, then I’m to assume every student has leave to enter their teacher’s private chambers during school hours? I think not, Lucius. Your son not only had the password, but he knew the pet was there. He was very familiar with it. He had come to see it." Voldemort watched what little color there was in the Malfoy face drain quickly, leaving him almost dead in appearance. "Now tell me, my faithful death eater, either your son knew it was there and did not tell you, or he told you and you did not tell me."
After long minutes, Lucius’ mouth twitched as though he might be sick, "I had no idea, my lord."
Shrugging, Voldemort started to turn away, casually looking over his shoulder, "Draco will be coming home for the holidays. My pet has become so used to his company, it’s only fair he continues to provide the service. Don’t you agree?"
Without waiting for an answer he swept out the room, however, he did not miss what sounded disturbing close to a sob coming from Lucius throat.
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Harry heard the door open, he heard the heavy breathing he instinctively knew as Master’s. He sat up, scooting towards the headboard for support, "Hello, Master."
Master knelt on the bed in front of Harry, trailing a finger over his perfect cheek, over the place where the four scars now rested on Malfoy’s flesh, "Malfoy says you were bad." Harry felt tears trying to well up in his eyes, and Master leaned down, kissing him full on the mouth, running his tongue over the pliant lips, "No fear, pet, I won’t punish you for it."
Harry threw his free arm around Master, burying his head in the man’s robes and forcing the dry sobs back, "Thank you, I’m sorry, I was just so scared, and it hurt so much."
Running long fingers through Harry’s hair, Master worked a hand onto his cheek and lifted his head up, "I know, pet, but I’ll have to cut your nails."
Nodding, Harry held out his hand, part of him loathing the thought. He’d spent so long taking care of them, as far back as he could remember they had been at some state of length - once, when he’d been really bored, he’d grown them out till they started curling. Watching with detached horror, he saw each little nail fall onto the bed, leaving his fingers flat and... and like Draco’s, masculine almost. Before everything, before Severus, before Lucius had raped him, he would have cried for his beautiful fingers, but it just felt so unimportant.
Master kissed the tips of each finger, sucking on the last one for a moment before pulling away, "You’ll be getting company soon. I know you’d be lonely without your friend." Harry stared numbly for a moment as the meaning sank in and his stomach began to feel nauseous. He didn’t want to think about it. ‘Would Master want to play with Draco? Would Master want to watch? Would he tell them what to do? Would he make Lucius...?’
Stopping the train of thought, Harry bite his lip to keep last nights dinner from escaping. He tilted his head down, hiding his revulsion, until he felt Master’s hand lifting his chin and gently forcing eye contact, "What Lucius did was punishment for not knowing it was me who held you, for taking off your gifts, your collar. But for allowing the traitor to play with you," a finger ran over Harry’s cheek just under his eye where the tears had dried, "you can watch him die."
He heard the hiss of Master releasing the cuff at the same time he realized his stomach was heaving violently. Pressing a hand over his mouth, he stumbled painfully into the bathroom and fell, knees cracking against the hard tile as he vomited.
After nearly a minute, he managed to settle back against his heels, breathing heavily. He reached up and flushed toilet with some difficulty, his strength having left with the last traces of food in his stomach. Keeping a hand on the small silver handle, he stared at it for a moment, confused. Something was wrong, not right, it almost felt like something was missing.
Tibby. That’s what was wrong, Tibby usually flushed the toilet after he was sick and then she’d fetch a warm rag to wash his face with and help quell the remaining nausea. He could feel Master watching him, and he waited for the water to finish its cycle before looking up, "Master, where’s Tibby?"
Harry watched Master kneel down at his side, "Tibby knew where you were for a week and did not tell me. She had to be punished."
The hard knot was again forming in his stomach, threatening to come up and Harry quickly leaned over the toilet, letting the acid taste rise up his throat, burning in his mouth. Tibby was dead. She would have come otherwise, she always came, no matter how hurt, she always came. He’d wanted to see her. He’d begged Mimi to tell her and now she was dead for it.
It wasn’t long before he had nothing left, and Harry doubled over, resting his forehead on the cool tiles and heaving dry sobs. He wanted to cry, really cry, Tibby was more important than his rape, Tibby was more important than any of them, but he’d already run out, and it made him feel dirty to know he couldn’t. Master just waited. It wasn’t like him to be so patient, but Harry was glad, grateful.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but when he finally looked up, it was into Master’s red eyes, clouded with lust and need. A hand grabbed his arm and he let it, standing and stumbling into the bedroom, onto the bed, laying on his stomach.
It should have felt like something, anything. He should have been revolted by it, sickened at the least. But he wasn’t. It was so familiar it was almost comforting. It wasn’t pain, or pleasure, or betrayal, or rape, it was just Master on top of him, spreading his legs with ease, licking his thighs and back, up his spine, sucking on his neck as he entered him. He was more aware of the uneven breathing and cool drops of sweat dripping onto his back than of the organ moving slowly inside of him.
He thanked various deities he’d read about when reflex took over, his body clenching and his throat making expected noises. It lasted forever, five minutes, less than usual. Master usually went much longer much harder. It was almost as if he were trying to make up for the Lucius’ brutality and the vomit Harry could still taste in his mouth.
When it was finally over, Harry felt Master fall onto his back, the cold skin clammy against him. Sticky. He choked down another sob as he remembered what Draco had said, knowing, without wanting to, that he was right.
‘How would you know? You were his fuck toy.’
-tbc-