Magia Scura

~*~*(-Magia Scura-)*~*~

WARNINGS: Graphic non con.
NOTE: This was originally part of a series of short fics that I was just going to put all in the same entry, but while looking for something to work on recently, I found it again and liked it, and have decided to add more to it. The chapters may or may not be revised.

I'm currently working on the third chapter. No promises about length.
Warnings include Angst, rape, hurt/comfort, and probably bondage.
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Draco groaned. His head was pounding like an elephant was rampaging through his skull. Opening his eyes was painful, and he couldn't lift his head. Resigned, he studied the floor beneath him. His feet were almost a foot and a half above the grimy cobblestone floor, barely grazing the top of a stone block. He assumed it was the base of a statue, as he could make out a carved robe and feet behind his. His eyes focused on the stone arms locked around him, holding him bound and motionless.

Gradually, his headache lessened a bit, and he took the opportunity to study his surroundings. The room was large, and empty save for a single stone slab near the center. The walls were lined with statues, though most of them held weapons rather than hostages. The floor was filthy, and looked as though it hadn't seen a broom in decades.

A vague memory tugged at the back of his mind, and on a guess, he studied the walls. If he was right, there would be some sign...

Above the door way, he discovered the Malfoy insignia carved into the wall when the Manor had been built, and spelled to remain there forever. The dungeons beneath Malfoy Manor. He was surprised he'd recognised them; he'd only been down here once in his life, as a child of six. His short expedition had been cut abruptly short by an angry Lucius. Now, nearly eleven years later, the chilly air and dank, stale smell wasn't nearly as intimidating, though the statue bit was unnerving. Briefly, he wondered how he'd gotten there, when the image of a tall, dark-haired woman appeared in his mind.

Aunt Bella, he realized with a jolt, and the rest of the memory followed. She'd taken him from his bed at Hogwarts, and Apparated them both to the front courtyard of the manor. There, his memory failed him, and he could only guess that she'd knocked him out and dragged him down here.

The unmistakeable sounds of multiple people Apparating into the same place overwhelmed him suddenly, and brought back his headache with a vengeance. Dozens of men and women in the black, concealing robes of the Death Eaters was a sight to chill even a brave man, and Draco was admittedly anything but brave.

He was, however, curious. This many Death Eaters, in full regalia, and so publicly gathered beneath Malfoy Manor, could only mean one thing.
Voldemort.

His fears increased when the giant snake, Nagini, made its way over to him, stopping to taste the air around him before moving on to more interesting pursuits. Voldemort himself appeared not long after the main Death Eater force, and Draco could mark his progress through the crowd by watching the ebb and flow of bodies around him.

Amongst the masked and faceless figures, one in particular stood out, the one brave enough - or foolish enough - to risk moving without the hood. Bellatrix was dancing around manically, her laughter a high pitched shriek in sharp contrast to the soft murmurs.

"Enough, Bella!" Voldemort snapped at her, and she ceased her dancing, though the crazed light in her eyes never faded. At a gesture from the Dark Lord, one of the robed figures stepped forward, dragging a body along with him. The hair poking out from beneath his hood revealed him to be none other than Lucius Malfoy.

Draco swallowed as he recognised the limp form of Potter dangling from his father's hands. Unceremoniously, the dark haired teen was draped across the slab, which suddenly seemed terrifyingly close to Draco's statue, and he struggled uselessly against his bonds for a moment. Deciding that it was better not to draw too much attention to himself, he stopped and drew back against the cold stone, hoping they'd be to involved with whatever plot Potter was part of to notice him.

At a few words from Voldemort, Potter was simultaneously divested of every stitch of clothing he'd been brought in wearing, and bound to the stone at the wrists and ankles. Another spell, and he jerked awake, coughing. Draco saw something dark fall from his mouth, and hoped that the stupid Gryffindor hadn't just coughed up blood. Words were exchanged, but he missed them in his study of the red substance on the ground, and suddenly Potter was straining against his bonds, arcing against the Cruciatus curse. Suddenly, Draco was much keener on listening.

"Tonight, boy, you'll have fulfilled your purpose," Voldemort was saying, waving his arms and glaring smugly down on Potter, who snarled something incomprehensible, and spat blood into his face.

It was all he could do not to whistle in appreciation. Not many could hold up under Voldemort's terrifying touch and still have enough left to defy him again. Smirking still, Voldemort kept his temper, and the flames from the torches burned brighter, hurting Draco's eyes. Kneeling beside him, Voldemort trailed a long finger down Potter's chest, the nail biting into his skin and leaving a thin line of blood. Potter shivered, and tried to pull away.

Draco was very confused by the goings on. He'd never heard of any of Potter and Voldemort's fights going thusly; Potter always managed to incite him to great heights of anger, after which the Dark Lord would underestimate him, and lose again. That was how it always was, and that was a fact that Draco had come to accept. Only this time, that wasn't happening.

An icy dread had settled into his stomach when the first Death Eaters appeared, and it solidified into raw terror when he realized that Potter was going to die before his eyes. He knew enough of the way these things worked to guess that they'd somehow gotten word of his impending defection to the light side, and had brought him here to remind him where they expected his loyalties to lie. This was a warning, as well as Voldemort's revenge. Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, he watched in horror as Voldemort knelt above Harry's prostrate form.

"I've a lovely spell, Potter," Voldemort spat, almost conversationally. "Just for you. Quite lovely, actually."

Horror was no longer enough to describe the emotions filling Draco's mind at the proceedings in front of him. Potter was maintaining his facade of bravery in the face of death, scoffing openly at the Dark Lord's words.

"Nothing you could do to me would faze me, Tom," he whispered harshly, and for a moment, Draco could have sworn that Voldemort was about to kill him then and there, the rage so clear on his face that it was a shock to see it vanish a moment later.

"We'll see, Harry... We'll see."

Petrified with fear, Draco watched the unthinkable happen. Voldemort was reaching down his own body, through the shades that formed his robes, and... and...

Drew out his cock, stroking it almost lovingly. Bellatrix's deranged laughter rang out in the sudden silence, giving away her knowledge of what was about to happen.

Potter's face had gone completely white, and the marks and scars on his body stood out in stark contrast to his sudden bloodless look. "You see, Harry," Voldemort drawled slowly. "You are no more."

Something black dribbled out the top of his length, dripping off, and landing on Potter's body. Still, he scowled. "So you're going to infect me with your disease?" he asked, his voice trembling, and giving away his emotions. "Or is this just the saturday night entertainment for you and your bunch of freaks?"

"Oh no. This is the Saturday night entertainment for a very important guest, Harry," Voldemort hissed, and inclined his head towards Draco, who panicked.

Potter followed his eyes, and they widened at the sight of Draco clasped tightly against the statue, unable to move. Draco hated himself then, as the sight of him took the fight out of Potter. "Not him," he whispered brokenly.

"Struck a nerve, have we boy?" Voldemort roared. "Bring him closer!" Suddenly, the statue holding him was stepping off it's perch, walking closer to the stone slab. As he approached, Draco noticed for the first time the tears making their way down Potter's face, and wished there was something he could do to console him.

Almost imediately, he concealed these thoughts behind years of practiced hatred, but he couldn't help noticing the dark stare Voldemort bestowed on him. Potter's words had become a littany, echoing over and over in the dead silence of the room.

"not him not him not him not him not him not him.."

Repositioning them both, Potter suddenly realized that Draco wasn't the only one in the room. Voldemort lifted his hips, and thrust into him with such swiftness that Draco barely saw it before Potter was screaming in agony.

Over and over, the thrusts continued until Potter was hoarse, crying out silently against the intrusion, the violation, the pain.

It seemed to go on for hours - the greedy stares of the gathered Death Eaters, Potter's whimpers, pants and occasional grunts from Voldemort, and the breath that Draco couldn't let out.

Finally, Voldemort froze, his body trembling as he climaxed into Potter's body. To everyone's amazement, as he came, his body faded away into dust, scattering across Potter's limp and bloody body.

Bellatrix was the first to kneel. "My lord," she said, bowing her head to the boy on the stone. Potter's eyes snapped open, and their empty, black depths scared Draco almost as much as the rape had. Gone were the clear, expressional green eyes he'd stared into for so long; the entire eye was completely black. The center split open like a cat's pupil, red against the inky darkness, and almost glowing.

"What are you waiting for? Untie me, you fools!" he snapped, the dust rearing back into the air, and reforming the shadowy cloak around him. Only now, 'him' was Potter. Was Potter.

Bellatrix snapped to his side, breaking the bonds, and helping him up. A scowl seemed out of place on Potter's face, but the malice behind it was recognizeable to all; Voldemort, and no doubts. Turning to Draco, he smirked. "How wonderful," he said, Potter's voice rough and gravelly. "Do you know how easily we will infiltrate Hogwarts with this body? Do you know how quickly Dumbledore will fall, betrayed by his closest?" Laughter rang out, Voldemort's and Bellatrix's mixing with Lucius', Macnair's, Avery's, and soon, they were all laughing, celebrating at the impending victory.

Voldemort got so far into Draco's face that he could see his terrified eyes reflecting back at him from the inky depths of Potter's. "He's still in here," Voldemort whispered. "I planned to send him into your body, but I knew that you would be worth far more to me like this." As he spoke, the red and black faded back into green, though it was dull and emotionless. Cold. The pupils gleamed with a red tinged light, sending shivers down Draco's spine. "Did you know, that he's been in love with you since second year? How intriguing. Maybe later we'll play out some of his fantasies." A wave of his hand - Potter's hand - and Draco found himself in his own bed, completely nude, and completely motionless. "Fuck." he whispered.

All was indeed lost.