The Slave

The Slave

Authors Note** This is my first fic. It is un-beta'd. Plese be kind. Also, if you would like to beta, or wouldn't mind beta'ing my story, please contact me. -Thanks!!

Summary
Orphaned slave Harry is forced to endure years of physical and sexual abuse at the hands of his master, Vernon Dursley and his master’s wife and son. But on the day of Harry’s 17th he will be taken from the life that he has always known and thrust into that of the prince and heir to the throne of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. Will Hary’s life improve or will he still endure hardships and pain.

Present Day

Harry Potter knew all about pain, especially physical pain. Oh, yes, he knew. At the moment, however, he had to admit that his lower back, buttocks and upper thighs could hurt a lot worse, as they had in the past, than they did at that moment. He tried flexing his foot and groaned in misery as slicing pain shot through his legs and back. I think I’ll just stay lying down for a while longer, like maybe forever, Harry thought to himself with a grimace. Please, somebody, anybody, save me, save me.

Prologue

Harry Potter was the orphan slave of one of the cruelest masters to have ever resided in the Kingdom of Slytherin. It did not matter to his master that Harry was the only son of his wife’s dead sister, her last living relative, other than her own son, Dudley. It did not matter to his master that Harry had lived in his aunt and uncle’s home for over 15 years, ever since Harry’s parents were murdered by the Dark Lord when Harry was just a little over a year old. It also did not matter that Harry was not born a slave, but a free citizen, even though this knowledge was never shared with Harry. No, none of this mattered, what did matter was that Harry’s parents possessed the ability to perform magic and through them, Harry, which Harry also did not know. Harry’s master, Lord Dursley, hated magic, and while yes, he and his family did live in the land of Slytherin, they were not magical and very few of their acquaintances were magical. The only reason that they lived there was because it once belonged to Harry’s parents, and when they were killed, Dursley seized the land.

Lord Dursley believed that he could beat the magic out of Harry before he ever had the opportunity to learn magic. So, even though Harry was only an innocent child when he arrived on the Dursley’s doorstep in the middle of frigid, blustery night, Lord Vernon Dursley decreed Harry to be of slave status so that he would have the right to treat or mistreat Harry as he saw fid, and was given to the household cook for looking after. Petunia Dursley’s first act as mistress of the keep was to get rid of all the free servants and slaves that worked or belonged to the keep. She and her husband did not want anyone realizing that Harry, last living heir of the Line of Potter had survived the attack that killed his parents, thereby claiming the title of Lord of the Keep. Instead of hiring servants, she made her husband buy her slaves to maintain the running of the household and surrounding lands. She figured it would be cheaper and they would be more easily manageable or disposable if the situation called for it. She cared little for her sister and nephew, having never laid eyes on the boy until the night he arrived at their home in Little Whinning, a small village outside the Kingdom of Slytherin, almost in the Land of Gryffindor, of the Kingdom of Hogwarts. She did not care to raise the boy herself and had no qualms about giving him to the head kitchen slave to be raised as a slave.

Harry was brought up believing he was the natural son of the cook, a born slave, and while his main duties of the house were to learn the proper way to cook, so that he could one day take over that role. He had several other duties to all three family members residing inside the keep, some very painful duties, especially to two males of the family. When Harry was just four years old, he got is first taste of Vernon’s punishments. Vernon wanted Harry to start his training by make breakfast, and stayed to watch to make sure that no one helped Harry in his efforts. Harry was very short for his age, looking all of two instead of four. He could not see over the cooking stove and had to stand on stool so he could see what he was doing. Harry’s arms could not even reach past the front burners and it was due to this that Vernon’s breakfast was ruined. Harry could not reach the back burner in time to pull the iron pot of boiling water and eggs off the hot eye. The bubbling, boiling water spewed into the other pans on the stove, steam rising as the liquid splashed down. The steam rose, fogging Harry’s glasses, making him unable to steam and when he reached to pick up the boiling eggs, he touched the side of the pot instead of the handle; he pulled his hand back so quickly it knocked to the two pans on the front burners. Bacon and scrambled eggs flew everywhere including onto the master’s new clothes. Harry lost his balanced and landed on the floor, luckily on his bum. He quickly took his glasses off to clear them of the condensation, and made the mistake of looking into his master’s face, even though it was just a blur of colors. Harry could tell his master was furious by the way his face was looking like a large tomato to Harry’s naked eyes.

Vernon didn’t wait for Harry to put his glasses back on his face before he started belting away at the small, fragile child. He used his fist to rain blows down on Harry abdomen and chest. He enjoyed hearing Harry’s screams of pain, he voice rough as he begged for mercy from his master, anything, to stop the blows. When Vernon realized that if he kept beating the child it would kill him, he quickly stopped and lifted the slave by the scruff of the neck. He dragged Harry’s unmoving body up from the kitchens to the main floor of the keep, stopping as he reached the winding staircase in the central hall. For under the steps was a cupboard, a small dark hole, filled with dust and dirt and spiders. Vernon tossed Harry into the cupboard under the stairs. He left Harry in there, never once letting any of the other slaves to tend to Harry’s wounds for 5 days. He also did not give Harry any food and just enough water to ensure Harry continued breathing. When Vernon finally let Harry out of the confined space, he brought Harry into the dungeons, saying he wanted to talk to Harry.

Harry squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the torch light, and looked around the room his master had brought him to. He could not make out the objects exactly, and he did not know what they were for exactly, having never seen anything like them before, but he knew the room and all its contents were to bring about pain. He could feel the tears behind his eyes; not knowing what he master was going to do to him now, nor understanding why this was happening to him. He had always tried to do exactly as he was told, never complaining, even though he had plenty to complain about. He felt his master pull him further into the room while at the same time hands were removing his slave tunic, leaving him naked. Vernon sat in a large, ornately carved, wooden chair that was situated in the shadowed area surrounding the light that illuminated the center of the room.

“Walk forward two steps Harry and then stop and stand there until I say otherwise,” Vernon ordered Harry.

Harry walked the two steps that would place him into the lighted are, near his master’s chair. Harry tried to make out the form, but couldn’t see anything at all except darkness. He stood there, just as his master ordered, shivering from the cold drafts that plagued the dungeons and fear, scared about what his master would do to him next.

Vernon gazed on to Harry’s naked, nubile body with depraved lust. It had been years since he had been with one so young, and he was getting hard thinking about all the pleasures and pains to be had over the coming years, this being the only reason he had not had Harry killed. Vernon could feel himself start to harden, and touched himself through the fabric. When he could take the confinement no longer, he quickly opened his leggings and pulled his swollen cock out, rubbing the pre-cum over the head and down the shaft.

“Now, Slave, I want you to touch yourself very slowly. Run your hands over your stomach and chest. That’s it, rub all over, touch every part. Now stop, bring both of your hands to your chest and pinch your nipples. Hard, harder, Slave,” Vernon ordered roughly.

Harry could feel the tears fall to his face as he was made to touch himself while his master watched. He could stop the pained whimper as he was forced to squeeze his little chest nubs hard. Harry now had an idea of what his master wanted from him, and knew it was very wrong, and going to be very painful. He had heard the grunts and moans of the others in the slave quarters; he had once even been fondled by one of the outside slave who served as an under-gardener in his mistress’s gardens. He could hear the breathy, ragged moans of his master and could only shudder in response.

“Now, move one of your hands down to your little prick, while the other continues to pinch your nipples. Now stroke your boy-cock up and down, that’s it. Now a little faster, faster, yes,” breathed the master.

Vernon started hard at Harry, reveling in the boy’s corruption. He was now stroking his own hard, angry purple dick fast and furious. He couldn’t stop the moan as he watched Harry rub himself for the first time a very adult way. Vernon knew he was going to explode any moment and squeezed his balls to forestall the eruption. He wanted to be inside Harry for that.

“Walk to me, Slave. No, don’t move your hands; leave them right where they are. Yes, now stop walking.”

Standing between his master’s spread thighs; he could feel the haggard, strained breathing of his master. And then he felt it. His master had placed his large, chunky hand on Harry shoulder, moving it down his arm to meet the hand that was stroking his prick. His master covered that hand and moved it onto a much larger prick. Harry sobbed, knowing that he was now touching his master in a very inappropriate way.

Vernon smirked hearing Harry cry out in distress. Oh, this is going to a very pleasurable night, Vernon thought. By the time he was finished with Harry, he had stolen the boys innocence in the most brutal way possible, tearing the insides of the immature rear. He had spent himself once in the boys little arse, and twice in the boys mouth. He grinned evilly at the thought of how he rammed into Harry’s tiny mouth.

He didn’t know if he was going live after this night, a part of him hoping he didn’t. Harry could barely breath from the pain in his bum and throat. He knew he would be unable to speak or eat for a long while. He could feel a slimy liquid oozing onto back of his thighs. Harry didn’t move from his position on dungeon floor. He couldn’t, he could barely feel his legs. Please, somebody, anybody, save me, save me. Harry knew this was not the last of his punishments, no, this was only the beginning.