Low Man Is Due

WARNING – this fic includes lots of bad things happening to good people. Don’t like it? Please don’t read it! If you’ve reached this point in the story, please don’t flame me cos you think I’m sick/twisted/need mental help as you have made the choice to get this far! SP



Chapter Five: The door cracks open, but there\'s no sun shining through



Barely had Harry had time to draw breath in hurt and outrage at the other’s comment than the older man clutched at his own arm with a pained cry and suddenly pulled free of Harry. Harry dropped his legs to the floor, finding that they shook and barely supported his weight. Between his buttocks he felt angry fire.



The boy felt cool fluid dribbling from his hole, and felt cool air stroking his swollen and damaged anus, and felt it swirl within him. He clenched his passage and whimpered in raw hurt.



The collar about his neck abruptly vanished and he collapsed to the stone floor, crying out as his landing jarred his abused ass. He stayed where he had landed, legs crumpled beneath him, unpleasant fluids trailing down his thighs and dripping onto the stonework.



“Follow me,” Snape ordered, tucking himself into his clothing and striding across the room to the door.



Harry stayed where he was, shaking with suppressed cries. One trembling hand moved between his legs to gather some of the fluid from his ass. He stared at it through watery eyes, seeing the pinkish smear glistening on his finger. He bit on his lower lip, easily renting the tear from earlier, and began sucking on the warm familiar flavour of blood. It calmed him a little.



“Follow me!” Snape repeated, angrily, his voice rising.



Swiping at his eyes with an arm to clear away tears, Harry tried to stand.



“No! On your hands and knees. Crawl like the dog you are.”



Harry glared at Snape. Hatred and anger hardened his expression. “I’m not your dog.” He stood up, fury overcoming the pain in his body.



Snape strode back, quick angry steps that quickly covered the limited space of the room. He brought his hand back and slapped Harry’s face. An open handed slap. The imprint of his touch flamed across the boy’s cheek.



“Bastard.” Harry’s voice was low, his mouth filled with blood as he had bitten into his lip hard when the blow had struck. He swallowed the blood and brought defiant green eyes up to meet Snape’s black ones.



“Do not defy me.” Snape’s voice was impassive, although he lifted his hand again. Harry flinched.



“Or what?” the boy asked, voice rising in pitch as hysteria threatened to grab a hold of him, “You’ll hit me again? Or rape me again?”



“You gave consent.” Snape ground out, “Besides, you either crawl through choice, or I make you. Do I need to remind you that Weasley’s continuing well being depends upon your co-operation?”



Harry ground his jaw. Ron wouldn’t survive being kicked to the floor and being forced to crawl along behind Snape, not with the state his legs were in. But could he do it? Given how much his lower body hurt. He would have to try, anything to save Ron. He grit his teeth, and lowered himself to the floor. That simple action cost him more guts than anything else he had done in his life.



“Good.” Snape was still expressionless, and simply turned and led the way to the door, opening it without even glancing back to check whether or not Harry was following.



Harry paused on the threshold. The room was at least a familiar environment, even if what it held was disturbing and frightening. But out there was all manner of unknown and probably dangerous things and people. He drew a reasonably deep breath and crawled across, feeling horribly vulnerable and aware that his gaping asshole was on display for all to see.



Wherever Snape led him, it wasn’t far from their room. But any distance was a difficulty for Harry as his knees were still shredded from his earlier treatment, and his body was suffering with shock and the trauma of his rape. He followed painfully behind his attacker, his entire being focused purely on getting one hand in front of the other. To just keep moving.



The older man stopped abruptly before a huge carved mahogany door and pushed it open. Harry froze, unable to move. Inside was a circle of black robed figures, each on bended knee, bodies turned towards the figure seated in a carved stone throne – Lord Voldemort.



Snape moved forwards, and around the edge of the circle, until he reached the empty place in it. He too kneeled and dipped his head respectfully to his master. The Dark Lord stared at Snape for a long while before turning his attention to the figure still huddled in the doorway.



“Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.” Voldemort’s high clear voice rang out, his red eyes intense as he looked at the frozen figure. He kept his gaze on the boy, even though his next words were addressed to his owner. “I must admit myself impressed, Severus, he seems well trained already. But I would have expected no less from a teacher such as yourself.”



The snake eyes burned into Harry, and the boy felt his head pound. Suddenly horribly aware of his nakedness, Harry hunched over, trying to hide as much of his body as he could from prying eyes.



“Come here.” Voldemort ordered.



Harry glanced, not at the Dark Lord, but at Snape. His tormentor gave a brief nod, then turned his attention back to his master. Swallowing, Harry crawled painfully past the watching Death Eaters, body tensed for spells or kicks, making his way into the middle of the circle, fighting the blinding flashes of pain coming from his lightning scar.



His pace, not very quick to begin with, slowed, as he felt like he was trying to crawl through quick sand. His stomach was rolling dangerously as he neared his enemy, and he wanted nothing so much as to simply clutch his forehead and scream. He didn’t. He fought on until he was at Voldemort’s feet.



His stomach twisted, and he retched again and again, pursing his lips together to keep the little that remained in his stomach from spilling out.



What happened over the next hour was a blur to Harry. His energy was going into merely breathing in and out without being sick. He shuddered and retched at Voldemort’s feet whilst the Dark Lord spoke to his servants. At last, the evil wizard stopped and directly addressed him.



“The Boy Who Lived. It is time you returned to your keeper’s side.”



Harry jerked as one cold sharply pointed finger trailed over his face, making him clench his teeth so hard he was sure he’d cracked one. He was blinded painfully for long seconds whilst the Dark Lord touched him.



“Go.”



The instruction was clear, and Harry wanted to obey it, more than he’d ever wanted to obey anything in his life, but moving was beyond him. He willed himself to shift, even put one hand in front of the other, but just couldn’t make his legs follow. He shook his had to clear it and tried again. This time he managed a small shuffle towards Snape. Harry glanced up, saw how far away the other man seemed to his pain warped mind and bit back a sob. He couldn’t make it.



The room was strangely quiet, with a tension that pierced even Harry’s desperation. The Death Eaters were watching his struggle with an intensity quite disproportionate to what he was trying to achieve. Snape stared at him, black eyes intense with some emotion Harry couldn’t begin to identify.



When it became clear that Harry wasn’t going anywhere, Voldemort let a small cruel chuckle escape him. “He seems eager to remain in our company.” The Dark Lord observed, and the group around him shifted, a sense of eager anticipation filling the space. “Lucius?”



A masked figure approached the throne, moving with a grace and surety that spoke of wealth and self-confidence. Long silvery blond hair spilled down his back, rippling and contrasting with the deep black of his robes. “My Lord?”



The cultured voice was instantly recognisable, and made Harry’s stomach churn in anger. He redoubled his efforts to move and managed a small shuffle closer to Snape, but then stopped, exhausted from his efforts.



“He wishes to enjoy our hospitality for longer, my Lucius, do show him some.”



Even hidden by the mask, the satisfaction and cruelty in Lucius’ voice were clear to hear, “With pleasure, my Lord.” He reached out and grabbed Harry by his messy black hair, ignoring the boy’s cold hands clutching at his and trying ineffectually to pry his fingers free, and dragged him across the circle and out through the doors.