If the Leopard Were Offered Wings to Fly.

DISCLAIMER:JK Rowling and several publishing houses own the rights to Harry Potter. This is fanfiction written for fun, not for profit.

If The Leopard Were Offered Wings To Fly.

Chapter One: A Stupid Tuesday.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. There was supposed to be a massive, and epically noble "final battle" in which good triumphed over evil. Unfortunately, evil doesn't play fair and Harry Potter never got to fight his "final battle". Instead, the Dark Lord picked off the strong and experienced members of the Order of Phoenix one by one in a Blitzkrieg of individual lightning attacks. First Dumbledore, then Moody, then Lupin, then Arthur and Molly Weasley. On and on, one by one. The attacks were executed without honour, without warning. A pack of hyenas will always choose to slay the weakest member of a herd, but Lord Voldemort was no animal. He was a brilliant tactician with an army of capable drones. Instead of his grand final battle, Harry got blindsided on a Tuesday night date with his girlfriend.

Sure they were grieving. Life had become one endless pit of loss and despair. When the Wizarding World lost Dumbledore, when the Order lost Dumbledore, pain and confusion had run amock for a good long while. No one wanted to be in charge; No one knew whom to trust anymore. Discord was the Dark Lord's specialty, and they had all felt it. But Voldemort didn't stop there. He must have felt he'd waited long enough for his war, because all bets were off. Death was everywhere and so was the bitter sting of chaos.

"We need to retain some semblance of normalcy, Harry. We need to lead our lives. If we don't, Voldemort has already won this war," she'd said. "Just one night of peace, like nothing is wrong. That's all I ask."

Harry had worried. He had always been a worrier, but he didn't want to deny her. Despite their heartfelt coming-together at the end of term, they hadn't spent much time as a couple. Partly because of the madness of war, partly because he was afraid to attach himself to her, but Ginny had convinced him to take her to the Muggle cinema; a place she'd never been before to ease the pain of her recent loss.

He was walking her to a secluded spot so they could Disapparate to her house, which was the biggest mistake he would ever make. Suddenly, without warning, they were surrounded by cloaked and hooded figures. His hand was on his wand, but he was frightfully outnumbered. Hit by curse upon curse, he couldn't quite tell which one made him fall to the ground in paralysis. Harry breathed in deep as he could, but his lungs filled with mud instead of air. Before he could panic, a firm grip tugged his hair and twisted his head to the side. He heard his voice rasp as he drew breath again.

"GINNY!" he cried.

He could not hear her voice. All he could hear was the laughter of the Death Eaters surrounding him. Then the one standing closest to him took off his mask, revealing the tell tale complexion and platinum strands of Draco Malfoy.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up, you fucking cunt! I'll deal with your bloodtraitor girlfriend later."
At that point Harry felt a sharp pain in his face as Draco's muddy boot struck him right in the nose.

"Now, this is for landing my father in prison, you FILTH!"

Draco spat on him, then pulled out his wand and whispered to it: "Vajra." A crackling beam of light erupted from the tip, like a whip made out of vile energy.

CRACK!

The whip sliced right through his clothing, right through his skin. Harry screamed.

CRACK!

"How I've been waiting for this moment, Potter."

CRACK!

"You ruined my family."

CRACK!

"And I'll make you pay for that."

CRACK!

Harry searched for the willpower to get up, but he was bound by magic. The flesh of his back was being torn apart and blood began to flow from his mouth. He coughed out the metallic taste and managed a hoarse reply:

"How's your mother, Draco? I heard she found a new lover inside a bottle."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew they'd cost him dearly.

"I'll kill you, you halfblood bastard! I don't care what the Dark Lord said!"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The pain was unbearable. Each lash cut him deeper and deeper, but Harry no longer cared.

"Draco, stop. Calm yourself this minute! Remember your assignment. TAKE HIM ALIVE."

The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange was unmistakable and at her words, the lashing stopped. Harry's vision had gone cloudy, but he could hear the ragged breaths of his former classmate's rage and the squishing of leather boots near his face in the mud.

"You have him, Draco. He has been defeated. He is yours."

Harry wretched at her words, expunging the blood that he had accidentally swallowed, but something inside him broke. He had lost; it was over. He wanted to cry, but couldn't. He wanted to scream out loud and be angry, but couldn't. In his most desperate moment, all he could feel was relief. He had been fighting for as long as he could remember, and now it was all over. All this pressure that his parents' deaths had put on him, all the pressure that the prophecy had put on him... it was all over and he could be at peace with death. Harry wondered what death would sound like. All he heard though, was Draco's voice:

"Step aside, Bellatrix. I may not be allowed to kill him, but by Salazar, he deserves to be treated like a dog."

Harry heard Bellatrix step away, then he heard Draco's pants unzipping. The next thing he heard was a trickling sound and the laughter of many masked figures.
The hot stream of Draco's piss hit the wounds on Harry's back. His flesh stung, but inside something far greater was damaged. The flow of steaming liquid on his broken body was the ultimate seal of dominion of the Dark Side. Helpless to stop this sheer humiliation, Harry became more and more Voldemort's slave with every single drop. As the tears finally began to flow from his eyes, Harry saw the red of his blood mixed with the gold of his captor's piss flow freely into the mud. Then there was a sharp jerk on his left arm and a jabbing pain like that of a syringe, before the world faded to black.

******************************
********************
Harry awoke from a dreamless sleep. His eyes opened to a dimly lit dungeon cell. His mind was nebulous and heavy and his mouth was completely dry. Before he could move or even make a sound, a splash of cold water hit him straight in the face.

"Thirsty, Sleeping Beauty?"

The voice belonged to the vile concubine of the Dark Side, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry's arm shot up to his back, but he could feel no evidence of the severe injuries Malfoy had inflicted upon him. He tried to shake the cloud in his mind. It wasn't magical, it wasn't chemical, it was something he had never felt before.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days, Princess."

He heard a soft thud in front of him and finally opened his eyes. Before him lay the Daily Prophet, dated a day after the attack.

"Potter and Girlfriend Missing; Foul Play Suspected," read the headline.

"GINNY!?" he demanded.

Then that manx let out her laugh. Her horrid, bone chilling laugh.

"We haven't touched her, if that's what you mean. Dark Lord's orders. You should drink something."

Harry ignored the glass of water that Lestrange pushed towards him. His mouth felt grainy and his throat tasted like the final resting place of a dead gerbil, but he did not drink.

"What did you give me?" he said as he rubbed his throbbing head, "What did you put in my vein?"

Bellatrix grinned. "Essence of Muggle."

A shiver ran down Harry's spine and his stomach churned at the thought of the origin of the substance. He gagged and gagged, but his stomach had nothing to give up but bitter tasting bile.

"Aww, siwwy wittle Potter. The Muggle wasn't using it anymore," she leaned in close and lowered her voice to a whisper, "I extracted it myself as he cried out for mercy."

Harry wanted to lash out at her, strike her down, but his body was weak and his mind was mush. Instead, he collapsed in his own sick and moaned as he choked back his tears and empty vomit.

She left him in his cell, but he could hear the shrill sound of her laughter as she walked down the hall.

Three days went by. Each morning Harry was given a newspaper with increasingly bleak reports on his disappearance. He thought it was morning, anyway, but couldn't be sure. The perpetual twilight of his cell made it impossible to tell the time of day. Along with the paper, a plate of what appeared to be day-old tablescraps and a karaf of water was thrust upon him. He didn't eat the first day and it didn't affect him much; the Dursley's never had him on a nutritious diet anyway, but the second day he thought better of fasting. He'd been trying to reach Ginny the whole time; Screaming out her name until his voice was hoarse, all to no avail. He couldn't let himself grow weak until he knew she was safe.

" We haven't touched her, if that's what you mean. Dark Lord's orders."

The words kept repeating over and over in his brain. He knew what his nemesis' younger self had done to Ginny in the Chamber and couldn't bear to think what he might be doing to her right now. No, he had to stay sharp and strong, so he resolved.
He had fallen into a light slumber on what must have been the forth day. Harry had just opened his eyes at the creaking of his cell door when a familiar boot hit his face once again.

"Good evening, cunt. I've come to take your sorry arse upstairs."

"Malfoy."

Harry wanted to jump to his feet, wanted to hit him and get out of there, but all he could think about was Draco's urine splattering all over his wounds. The warm sensation of defeat: it numbed his will and made his back arch at the memory of hot bodily fluids sealing his fate as a captive.

"On your feet, cunt. We have a surprise for you."