Fallen Star (Sequel to Shooting Star) COMPLETE
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
33
Views:
17,335
Reviews:
176
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
33
Views:
17,335
Reviews:
176
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Traitor’s Reward
Chapter Number/Total: 27/32
Chapter Title: Traitor’s Reward
Words: 2569 Words
Mark passed out from the pain and they used spells to revive him. Draco wished he could pass out too. While Mark lay panting and bleeding, attention was turned back to Draco. Someone was using a kind of cutting spell on his back now. Draco found himself wondering if it was the same one Harry had used in the bathroom in sixth year. His vision swam; he was cold and he knew he was losing a lot of blood now.
Mark could hardly see clearly, his vision blurry with tears. His hand had managed to stay in Draco's throughout their torture, trying to squeeze it reassuringly. He was beginning to realise that they were just going to do this until they died.
"Bring him here," Voldemort said and someone removed the shackles on Draco with a spell. He held Mark's hand tight for a minute, looking into the tear-filled blue eyes of his lover. "I'm sorry, Mark," he whispered again, "we should never have involved you." And then they were dragging him away, his hand pulled from Mark's.
It felt like that last squeeze was something like a goodbye to Mark, and he wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not yet. "Draco," he said, his voice hoarse as he struggled to move after him, even though he knew it was useless. He was dizzy and he found himself wishing he had told the other men how much he cared about them because now he would never get the chance.
They half dragged, half carried Draco to Voldemort and threw him at the monster's feet. "So low you have sunk, Malfoy," he hissed. "First, you fall for your half blood slave and now a filthy Muggle. How disappointed your parents would be."
"You have no right to talk about them, especially my mother," Draco snapped, his words slurring some because his mouth was swollen.
Voldemort laughed. "Yes, her death was certainly ... entertaining," he said. "Oh, but you know that, you stood beside me and watched."
Mark pressed his cheek against the stone again, and closed his eyes, tears sliding down. He didn't want to see anything else. Hearing the pain in Draco's voice was horrible enough.
Draco had given up all pretense of control. He shuddered, looking up with hatred in his eyes. There were only two reasons he didn't launch himself at the monster. One was behind him and, he hoped, the other would find a way to get them out of this.
"So, Malfoy, you know the punishment for blood-traitors?" Voldemort asked, voice eager. There was laughter around the room.
Draco did know. They had done it to Fred Weasley. Castration. He clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose and refusing to answer. It wasn't just the terror he felt at the idea. It was that Harry was linked to him. Not only would Harry feel it, but even if they lived and a day passed without him fucking Harry, the pain would drive his lover crazy. The blond swallowed his pride. "Please," he begged, "not that." The laughter was louder. This was what they wanted. They wanted the haughty Malfoy on his knees begging. "Anything else."
Mark lifted his head up as he heard Draco's words. He didn't know what the punishment was for these ... blood-traitors, but if it was worse than what endured so far, he was terrified. He shifted on top of the slab, keeping his gaze on Draco and not the monster in front of him.
"Bring the Muggle," Voldemort snapped and men moved in to unchain and drag Mark to the steps.
"He is not part of this. He doesn’t know anything," Draco said, desperate to spare Mark any more pain.
"I don't care what he knows," Voldemort answered.
Mark had no choice but to let them drag him, he had no strength left to fight them. His back stinging with every movement. He guessed this was it, this was the end for him.
Draco glanced at Mark, where they dropped him in front of the blond. His heart was pounding, waiting to see what they would do to Mark.
Nagini slithered out from behind the throne, the snake's tongue flickering over the blood on Mark's back.
Mark's eyes widened when he saw the large snake and his heart beat faster than before. He was almost sure that his death would be caused from this. He winced and flinched away when he felt its tongue.
"Look at me, you Muggle trash," Voldemort commanded.
Mark's eyes snapped wide in fear, but he couldn't look up at the monster, eyes sliding away quickly to look over its shoulder.
"We were just discussing Malfoy's punishment," Voldemort said as if he was talking about what to have for tea. "The punishment for blood-traitors is castration. We cut the cock and balls from the traitor and feed them to my pet here. What do you think of that plan?"
Mark shuddered, looking over at Draco quickly. He shook his head, not wanting Draco to ever go through that kind of trauma, on top of everything else that had happened to him. "No, please don't," he gasped.
"No? You would deny Nagini her meal? Do you have something to replace it with? After all, we must have our pound of flesh," Voldemort continued in his faux reasonable voice.
Mark swallowed, looking down at the ground. He just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't an option at all. And yet he couldn't let anything else happen to Draco as long as he had a choice. He swallowed again, his lips trembling as he replied. "Mine," he whispered so low that he could hardly hear himself say it. Then he forced himself to look up at the creature on the throne. "Cut me instead of him," he said strongly.
***
Harry and Shelton arrived in a dingy room full of junk that the man said was somewhere in Pittsburgh. Ambrose traded the shoe for a broken umbrella that was set against the wall. "The next crossing will be worse than that one," he said as he panted, trying to catch his breath.
Harry was looking even worse than he did before they left, his skin clammy and pale. He glanced up at Ambrose suddenly. "Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean." Was he really helping him or was he just leading him to the trap, Harry wondered.
Shelton looked around and found a couple of chairs, setting one next to Harry before lowering himself into the other one. He was a big man and barely fit in the old wooden chair. It creaked as he settled in. He waited for Harry to sit.
Harry didn't want to sit, feeling too sore. He shook his head. "Go on."
"Rest or you won't make the rest of it," Shelton insisted.
Harry swallowed and slowly sat down in the chair, wincing a little. Again, he felt like they were wasting too much time.
Ambrose Shelton starred at him for a moment. "I am pure-blood," he started. "I was raised to believe that mattered. So when the Dark Lord returned, I joined. I thought he would make our world better. But when he seized power, I came to realise he was insane. Completely mad. I was there that night, you know."
"What night?" Harry asked quietly, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
"When they gave you to Malfoy," he answered, glancing away for a minute. "I never did like him. I figured he had used his money to buy his way to the top while the rest of us had to do the dirty work. I was really surprised when the Dark Lord gave you to him instead of killing you."
Harry looked up at him quietly. "So you know of the bond. Why I know they're hurting him? Why I need to get to him now?"
"Yes, the Enslavement Spell," Ambrose said. "I turned traitor because of him, you know."
"Why?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Like I said, I always took him for a coward," Ambrose continued. "But if he could stand up to the Dark Lord, risking everything for you, then why not me? I hated everything about the so-called new order. I hated the lechery, the decadence and the cruelty. This wasn't rebuilding our culture. This was debasing it."
"So you're on my side now?" As Harry waited for his reply he suddenly felt a pain in his back so sharp that the air was knocked out of him.
Ambrose caught Harry before he fell out of the chair. He didn't ask what was wrong. "I am on the side of ending this madness," he said. "If you can do that, then I am on your side."
Harry gasped, arching again as he felt what he knew was a whip again. "Then ... then take me to him ...."
"Promise me that it will be different if you win, swear it," Ambrose said, still holding Harry by the arms.
"I swear," Harry replied softly, looking up at the older man. "Now please, help me ...."
Ambrose pulled the smaller man up, wrapping an arm around Harry's back and holding him tightly against his own body. Then he reached for the umbrella. "Hold on to it and me," he said.
Harry held on as tightly as he could, closing his eyes, and waited to feel his feet leave the ground.
The large man pulled his wand then and activated the Portkey. They were pulled from the room and felt the cold wind as they hurtled across the ocean toward England.
***
"No!" Draco yelled before he could stop himself. "He's Muggle, his blood isn't what's called for!"
There was a lot of laughter and muttering then. Voldemort held up a hand and the Death Eaters quieted. "Malfoy is, unfortunately, correct here," he said. "Your blood isn't good enough for my pet. So I will make you an offer. We will give you a knife. You may cut a pound of flesh from anywhere on Malfoy's body and feed it to Nagini. Do that and we leave him intact."
Mark began to shake violently when he though of cutting his lover like that. "I ... I can't ...."
Macnair laughed and drew a blade, while several Death Eaters grabbed Draco's arms, hauling him to his feet and holding him. Draco tried not to tremble as the man pressed the blade between his legs. "Mark," he gasped, "do it. Do it for Harry."
"Wait ... wait!" Mark called out, struggling to get up. "I'll ... I'll do it. Just don't hurt him."
Draco's breathing was ragged and he felt the sharp edge of the blade against his flesh. Macnair and the others laughed at the display of fear from both men.
Voldemort nodded to Macnair and the big man pulled the blade back. "Chain him to the altar again," Voldemort said.
Draco was shaking as they dragged him back over. He had always been a thin man and he was trying to imagine what part of his body would weigh a pound. Because, if Voldemort said a pound, he meant it. Anything less would be for nothing.
Mark watched, physically beginning to shake again and his stomach rolling, as he thought about what he was being forced to do now. The worst part was that he didn't even know where to cut so that he wouldn't kill Draco.
They lay Draco face-up on the blood-covered altar as they chained him in place. He hissed in pain as the wounds on his back pressed against the marble.
Mark didn't move from where he stood, beginning to slowly shake his head again. He wasn't sure if he could do this. Draco, and Harry, needed him to find a way.
"Now, Muggle or we will do it our way," Macnair said and handed him a different knife from the one he still held. It looked like a kitchen knife.
Mark took it, wanting to drop it and run away, but instead he began to slowly and stiffly walk over to where Draco was. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to look into the blond's eyes.
"Mark, look at me," Draco whispered.
Mark's lips trembled again as he looked up at him, his blue eyes watery.
Draco tried to put the trust in his grey eyes. "Believe me, I would rather have this. The trick here will be to take enough without killing me. That means taking the outer flesh. Try my thighs. Do you understand?"
"I don't want to do it," Mark responded, but he nodded once to show that he did understand. "Why are they doing so much to you?"
"I was one of them," Draco said.
"But I offered ... I don't want you to get hurt anymore, Draco," Mark said quietly.
"Everyone hates a traitor," Draco tried to explain. "They have to make an example of me or risk others."
Mark still shook his head, the hand with the knife shaking in his hand.
"Do it," Draco insisted, spreading his legs and tensing up in anticipation of the pain.
Mark slowly looked down at Draco's leg, biting his lip as he reach toward the thigh. He tried to control his shaking as he began to slowly cut along the skin, almost closing his eyes as blood began to well up. He would have nightmares about this – if he lived.
Draco clenched both teeth and fists trying to hold still as the blade bit into his skin. Even his toes curled in response to the sharp pain.
Mark moved as quickly as he could, beginning to feel sick as he watched the blood spill and run down that pale skin. He stopped and took a deep breath, which only made him smell the blood more, before he continued, cutting a large oval shape. He had to clench his teeth to keep his stomach under control.
Draco was panting now, teeth clenched so hard he felt they might break. He didn't want to cry out, knowing it would frighten Mark. One of the Death Eaters stepped up and held out a silver plate for Mark to put the flesh onto.
By the time Mark had finished the oval he was crying again. He glanced at the plate and he could only guess what he had to do next. These people were sick. He carefully pulled at Draco's skin, not wanting to cause him anymore pain than he already had. He dropped the chunk of flesh onto the plate and let out another sob.
Macnair had moved up and was standing across from Mark. "You'll have to skin his whole body to get a pound if you don't take more of the flesh than that," he observed, grinning.
"No, please ... that's enough, please take it," Mark begged, his fingers sticky with Draco's blood. "Please ..."
"I said a pound you foolish Muggle," Voldemort sneered.
Mark shook his head, trembling violently as he turned back to look at the bleeding wound on Draco's thigh. He reached out and began cutting again.
Draco was shaking now, despite his efforts not to. "Faster," he hissed, afraid his will would break soon.
Mark tried to move faster, dropping bits of the flesh on the plate as he sliced it off. At one point he had to dig his fingers in to get more and he gagged again but managed to keep it down.
The Death Eater beside him cast a spell on the plate. "Only six ounces so far," he said.
Mark gritted his teeth, moving around Draco and beginning to cut into his other thigh. "I'm sorry," he said again, moving faster than before, the knife sliding in a bit deeper as made the oval again. He pulled at the piece he got and hoped it was enough, his stomach clenching as he walked back around to lay it on the plate again.
Blood flowed down the sides of both of Draco's thighs. He squirmed at the pain, only making the wounds on his back hurt more as well.
"Thirteen ounces," the man announced after a second spell.
Mark walked back around and had to do what he did with the other leg, slicing off more bits of flesh and laying them on the plate. He didn't think he could ever forgive himself for doing this.
Chapter Title: Traitor’s Reward
Words: 2569 Words
Mark passed out from the pain and they used spells to revive him. Draco wished he could pass out too. While Mark lay panting and bleeding, attention was turned back to Draco. Someone was using a kind of cutting spell on his back now. Draco found himself wondering if it was the same one Harry had used in the bathroom in sixth year. His vision swam; he was cold and he knew he was losing a lot of blood now.
Mark could hardly see clearly, his vision blurry with tears. His hand had managed to stay in Draco's throughout their torture, trying to squeeze it reassuringly. He was beginning to realise that they were just going to do this until they died.
"Bring him here," Voldemort said and someone removed the shackles on Draco with a spell. He held Mark's hand tight for a minute, looking into the tear-filled blue eyes of his lover. "I'm sorry, Mark," he whispered again, "we should never have involved you." And then they were dragging him away, his hand pulled from Mark's.
It felt like that last squeeze was something like a goodbye to Mark, and he wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not yet. "Draco," he said, his voice hoarse as he struggled to move after him, even though he knew it was useless. He was dizzy and he found himself wishing he had told the other men how much he cared about them because now he would never get the chance.
They half dragged, half carried Draco to Voldemort and threw him at the monster's feet. "So low you have sunk, Malfoy," he hissed. "First, you fall for your half blood slave and now a filthy Muggle. How disappointed your parents would be."
"You have no right to talk about them, especially my mother," Draco snapped, his words slurring some because his mouth was swollen.
Voldemort laughed. "Yes, her death was certainly ... entertaining," he said. "Oh, but you know that, you stood beside me and watched."
Mark pressed his cheek against the stone again, and closed his eyes, tears sliding down. He didn't want to see anything else. Hearing the pain in Draco's voice was horrible enough.
Draco had given up all pretense of control. He shuddered, looking up with hatred in his eyes. There were only two reasons he didn't launch himself at the monster. One was behind him and, he hoped, the other would find a way to get them out of this.
"So, Malfoy, you know the punishment for blood-traitors?" Voldemort asked, voice eager. There was laughter around the room.
Draco did know. They had done it to Fred Weasley. Castration. He clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose and refusing to answer. It wasn't just the terror he felt at the idea. It was that Harry was linked to him. Not only would Harry feel it, but even if they lived and a day passed without him fucking Harry, the pain would drive his lover crazy. The blond swallowed his pride. "Please," he begged, "not that." The laughter was louder. This was what they wanted. They wanted the haughty Malfoy on his knees begging. "Anything else."
Mark lifted his head up as he heard Draco's words. He didn't know what the punishment was for these ... blood-traitors, but if it was worse than what endured so far, he was terrified. He shifted on top of the slab, keeping his gaze on Draco and not the monster in front of him.
"Bring the Muggle," Voldemort snapped and men moved in to unchain and drag Mark to the steps.
"He is not part of this. He doesn’t know anything," Draco said, desperate to spare Mark any more pain.
"I don't care what he knows," Voldemort answered.
Mark had no choice but to let them drag him, he had no strength left to fight them. His back stinging with every movement. He guessed this was it, this was the end for him.
Draco glanced at Mark, where they dropped him in front of the blond. His heart was pounding, waiting to see what they would do to Mark.
Nagini slithered out from behind the throne, the snake's tongue flickering over the blood on Mark's back.
Mark's eyes widened when he saw the large snake and his heart beat faster than before. He was almost sure that his death would be caused from this. He winced and flinched away when he felt its tongue.
"Look at me, you Muggle trash," Voldemort commanded.
Mark's eyes snapped wide in fear, but he couldn't look up at the monster, eyes sliding away quickly to look over its shoulder.
"We were just discussing Malfoy's punishment," Voldemort said as if he was talking about what to have for tea. "The punishment for blood-traitors is castration. We cut the cock and balls from the traitor and feed them to my pet here. What do you think of that plan?"
Mark shuddered, looking over at Draco quickly. He shook his head, not wanting Draco to ever go through that kind of trauma, on top of everything else that had happened to him. "No, please don't," he gasped.
"No? You would deny Nagini her meal? Do you have something to replace it with? After all, we must have our pound of flesh," Voldemort continued in his faux reasonable voice.
Mark swallowed, looking down at the ground. He just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't an option at all. And yet he couldn't let anything else happen to Draco as long as he had a choice. He swallowed again, his lips trembling as he replied. "Mine," he whispered so low that he could hardly hear himself say it. Then he forced himself to look up at the creature on the throne. "Cut me instead of him," he said strongly.
***
Harry and Shelton arrived in a dingy room full of junk that the man said was somewhere in Pittsburgh. Ambrose traded the shoe for a broken umbrella that was set against the wall. "The next crossing will be worse than that one," he said as he panted, trying to catch his breath.
Harry was looking even worse than he did before they left, his skin clammy and pale. He glanced up at Ambrose suddenly. "Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean." Was he really helping him or was he just leading him to the trap, Harry wondered.
Shelton looked around and found a couple of chairs, setting one next to Harry before lowering himself into the other one. He was a big man and barely fit in the old wooden chair. It creaked as he settled in. He waited for Harry to sit.
Harry didn't want to sit, feeling too sore. He shook his head. "Go on."
"Rest or you won't make the rest of it," Shelton insisted.
Harry swallowed and slowly sat down in the chair, wincing a little. Again, he felt like they were wasting too much time.
Ambrose Shelton starred at him for a moment. "I am pure-blood," he started. "I was raised to believe that mattered. So when the Dark Lord returned, I joined. I thought he would make our world better. But when he seized power, I came to realise he was insane. Completely mad. I was there that night, you know."
"What night?" Harry asked quietly, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
"When they gave you to Malfoy," he answered, glancing away for a minute. "I never did like him. I figured he had used his money to buy his way to the top while the rest of us had to do the dirty work. I was really surprised when the Dark Lord gave you to him instead of killing you."
Harry looked up at him quietly. "So you know of the bond. Why I know they're hurting him? Why I need to get to him now?"
"Yes, the Enslavement Spell," Ambrose said. "I turned traitor because of him, you know."
"Why?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Like I said, I always took him for a coward," Ambrose continued. "But if he could stand up to the Dark Lord, risking everything for you, then why not me? I hated everything about the so-called new order. I hated the lechery, the decadence and the cruelty. This wasn't rebuilding our culture. This was debasing it."
"So you're on my side now?" As Harry waited for his reply he suddenly felt a pain in his back so sharp that the air was knocked out of him.
Ambrose caught Harry before he fell out of the chair. He didn't ask what was wrong. "I am on the side of ending this madness," he said. "If you can do that, then I am on your side."
Harry gasped, arching again as he felt what he knew was a whip again. "Then ... then take me to him ...."
"Promise me that it will be different if you win, swear it," Ambrose said, still holding Harry by the arms.
"I swear," Harry replied softly, looking up at the older man. "Now please, help me ...."
Ambrose pulled the smaller man up, wrapping an arm around Harry's back and holding him tightly against his own body. Then he reached for the umbrella. "Hold on to it and me," he said.
Harry held on as tightly as he could, closing his eyes, and waited to feel his feet leave the ground.
The large man pulled his wand then and activated the Portkey. They were pulled from the room and felt the cold wind as they hurtled across the ocean toward England.
***
"No!" Draco yelled before he could stop himself. "He's Muggle, his blood isn't what's called for!"
There was a lot of laughter and muttering then. Voldemort held up a hand and the Death Eaters quieted. "Malfoy is, unfortunately, correct here," he said. "Your blood isn't good enough for my pet. So I will make you an offer. We will give you a knife. You may cut a pound of flesh from anywhere on Malfoy's body and feed it to Nagini. Do that and we leave him intact."
Mark began to shake violently when he though of cutting his lover like that. "I ... I can't ...."
Macnair laughed and drew a blade, while several Death Eaters grabbed Draco's arms, hauling him to his feet and holding him. Draco tried not to tremble as the man pressed the blade between his legs. "Mark," he gasped, "do it. Do it for Harry."
"Wait ... wait!" Mark called out, struggling to get up. "I'll ... I'll do it. Just don't hurt him."
Draco's breathing was ragged and he felt the sharp edge of the blade against his flesh. Macnair and the others laughed at the display of fear from both men.
Voldemort nodded to Macnair and the big man pulled the blade back. "Chain him to the altar again," Voldemort said.
Draco was shaking as they dragged him back over. He had always been a thin man and he was trying to imagine what part of his body would weigh a pound. Because, if Voldemort said a pound, he meant it. Anything less would be for nothing.
Mark watched, physically beginning to shake again and his stomach rolling, as he thought about what he was being forced to do now. The worst part was that he didn't even know where to cut so that he wouldn't kill Draco.
They lay Draco face-up on the blood-covered altar as they chained him in place. He hissed in pain as the wounds on his back pressed against the marble.
Mark didn't move from where he stood, beginning to slowly shake his head again. He wasn't sure if he could do this. Draco, and Harry, needed him to find a way.
"Now, Muggle or we will do it our way," Macnair said and handed him a different knife from the one he still held. It looked like a kitchen knife.
Mark took it, wanting to drop it and run away, but instead he began to slowly and stiffly walk over to where Draco was. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to look into the blond's eyes.
"Mark, look at me," Draco whispered.
Mark's lips trembled again as he looked up at him, his blue eyes watery.
Draco tried to put the trust in his grey eyes. "Believe me, I would rather have this. The trick here will be to take enough without killing me. That means taking the outer flesh. Try my thighs. Do you understand?"
"I don't want to do it," Mark responded, but he nodded once to show that he did understand. "Why are they doing so much to you?"
"I was one of them," Draco said.
"But I offered ... I don't want you to get hurt anymore, Draco," Mark said quietly.
"Everyone hates a traitor," Draco tried to explain. "They have to make an example of me or risk others."
Mark still shook his head, the hand with the knife shaking in his hand.
"Do it," Draco insisted, spreading his legs and tensing up in anticipation of the pain.
Mark slowly looked down at Draco's leg, biting his lip as he reach toward the thigh. He tried to control his shaking as he began to slowly cut along the skin, almost closing his eyes as blood began to well up. He would have nightmares about this – if he lived.
Draco clenched both teeth and fists trying to hold still as the blade bit into his skin. Even his toes curled in response to the sharp pain.
Mark moved as quickly as he could, beginning to feel sick as he watched the blood spill and run down that pale skin. He stopped and took a deep breath, which only made him smell the blood more, before he continued, cutting a large oval shape. He had to clench his teeth to keep his stomach under control.
Draco was panting now, teeth clenched so hard he felt they might break. He didn't want to cry out, knowing it would frighten Mark. One of the Death Eaters stepped up and held out a silver plate for Mark to put the flesh onto.
By the time Mark had finished the oval he was crying again. He glanced at the plate and he could only guess what he had to do next. These people were sick. He carefully pulled at Draco's skin, not wanting to cause him anymore pain than he already had. He dropped the chunk of flesh onto the plate and let out another sob.
Macnair had moved up and was standing across from Mark. "You'll have to skin his whole body to get a pound if you don't take more of the flesh than that," he observed, grinning.
"No, please ... that's enough, please take it," Mark begged, his fingers sticky with Draco's blood. "Please ..."
"I said a pound you foolish Muggle," Voldemort sneered.
Mark shook his head, trembling violently as he turned back to look at the bleeding wound on Draco's thigh. He reached out and began cutting again.
Draco was shaking now, despite his efforts not to. "Faster," he hissed, afraid his will would break soon.
Mark tried to move faster, dropping bits of the flesh on the plate as he sliced it off. At one point he had to dig his fingers in to get more and he gagged again but managed to keep it down.
The Death Eater beside him cast a spell on the plate. "Only six ounces so far," he said.
Mark gritted his teeth, moving around Draco and beginning to cut into his other thigh. "I'm sorry," he said again, moving faster than before, the knife sliding in a bit deeper as made the oval again. He pulled at the piece he got and hoped it was enough, his stomach clenching as he walked back around to lay it on the plate again.
Blood flowed down the sides of both of Draco's thighs. He squirmed at the pain, only making the wounds on his back hurt more as well.
"Thirteen ounces," the man announced after a second spell.
Mark walked back around and had to do what he did with the other leg, slicing off more bits of flesh and laying them on the plate. He didn't think he could ever forgive himself for doing this.