The Deepest Sort of Feeling

[ The Deepest Sort of Feeling ]

By: -Miss. Text-


Draco Malfoy stared up into red eyes, his own a hue of defiant silver, while the other's spoke of malice and shadows. He bit his lip when cool fingertips touched the small of his back, a shiver of disgust and anxious fear rolling down his rigid spine. Draco looked away, towards the room of Death Eaters, as if asking for help. No one obliged, even his father's face was stone cold. His voice cracked when he spoke, so badly that a mental image popped into his head of Lucius cringing with distaste. "What.. what would you wish of me, my Lord?"

Humiliation. He often wondered on his father's logic and could never bring himself to understand it. Lucius Malfoy was a proud pure-blood, so why the bloody hell were they in this situation? His father had insisted on Draco becoming a follower of a crazy half-snake-muggle-obsessed-homicidal-wizard, but for what benefit? They held meetings in dark places, spoke of dirty muggles and who they would kill next, but there was never talk of Voldemort's supposed plan to hold the reigns on the entire world.

"I want you to go to my chambers. A house elf will assist you there, while we finish this meeting." Draco wished that he was confused, wished that he didn't know what was going to happen when Voldemort walked into his bed chambers where Draco would be awaiting him. He really needed a good dose of ignorance right about now. Even though he wanted to run in the opposite direction, Draco got up silently and headed towards the rooms he was soon to be familiar with, but not before casting his father a pleading look. Once again, Lucius ignored him, facial expression unresponsive to his son's panicked one.

Draco gripped the handle tightly as he paused at the door, eyes shut tight with inner pain before he vanished into the chambers.

Voldemort closed the meeting almost immediately, and ordered no one to return for at least 42 hours, and stared everyone down as they left, sitting at his throne-like-chair while his hands clasped diabolically in front of him.

It was Lucius who paused at the seat of his master, looking down at his shoes while he asked, "My lord, what is it that you wish to do with my son?"

Voldemort stared at Lucius, a man he used to call his best friend when he was actually human himself. He was the only man he would answer to without throwing a Cruciatus curse at for questioning him. "When you took the dark mark, you pledged allegiance with my side of the war. You gave everything that belonged to you, to me, and though I let you use these things that are actually mine, I sometimes would like to make use of them myself. Young Draco is growing up, and I plan to use him for my benefit until I am gone. After that, he is free to be your son again."

Lucius sucked in a soft breath, the thought of Draco against his master's sheets crying out in pain, shot pain through his heart. However, this was not the time to defy his master's word, so he simply nodded and left.

There was nothing he could do, for now. But perhaps he would confide in Severus.

---

Draco bit his lip, staring at himself in the mirror fastened on the headboard. He looked like a woman. Maybe not in the sense of having breasts, or a made up face, but even without those things and with his short hair, he could pass as one. He wore silky pants that hung off of his hips, and a see through top that he wouldn't even call a top, because if it was taken off of him it would be nothing but a scarf. Draco not only looked like a woman, he looked like some concubine for a great lordship. His wrists and neck dangled with jewels, and also a collar and shackles.

All of this mattered naught to Draco, though, because there was something much worse troubling him. He was tied down to the bed, ass propped up with pillows, those silky pants down to his thighs while a house elf forced a dildo into his puckered and virginal entrance. It made him sick, and he wanted to throw up, but he'd been warned when the house elf had sensed he might that You-Know-Who would not like to walk into a scene like that. The house elf also explained, as he strapped on the butt-plug to Draco, that this was for the best and that he was lucky-- lucky --that The Dark Lord had ordered it to be done. He simply passed out moments after the horrible house elf left, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes and his muscles stretched around the rubber plug in a way he had never thought possible.

Something scared the fuck out of him, though, and he couldn't help but cry about it before he drifted off.

Apparently this was to stretch him out for something much bigger, and much harder.

---

Voldemort gripped the bottle of potion in his hand, eyes alight with satisfaction as it swirled a deep shimmering black. It would revert him for at least three days back to Tom Riddle, his human form, and he would have his way with the young Malfoy. Over, and over..

His head tipped back as he downed the potion like a shot of hard fire whiskey, licking his lips at the bitter taste of it afterwards. Waiting for the potion to take effect, he sank against the chair and willed calm, eyes shut. Then, a slight pinching in his stomach caused him to wince, and the pain grew and grew until he slid from the chair and doubled over, gasping breaths escaping him. He felt hot, almost to the point of burning, but it was worth it, because after it all subsided, and he stood with a mirror grasped tightly in his hand, the face of Tom Riddle was his only reflection.

He patiently made his way to his chambers afterwards, opening the door quietly and stepping in. The image of Draco all nice and ready for him pleased Riddle in a sense that had him shivering at the sight, stomach muscles clenching as he made his way over. Draco suddenly shifted in his bonds, a soft whimper escaping him, because he knew Voldemort was there, but he could not see him as he was facing the other way.

He tried not to cry as the bed dipped with the weight of his predator, and as cold hands ran over that stretched bum. "Don't.. Please.." The second those words came out of his mouth, Draco felt sick. This was his life, Draconis Lucius Malfoy's life. Heir to the Malfoy throne, yet because of his father he was to be nothing but another man's whore. A harsh slap stung his cheek, while Voldemort hissed in parestol tongue soft words. Draco shivered, tears tracing down his cheeks as the straps to the plug were undone, but Tom didn't pull it out right away. He gripped the end of the dildo, and thrust it into Draco's lubed entrance again, over and over until Draco was gasping in his place, trying not to lean back against the friction he never thought would feel good. It was pulled from him then, a tight whine of protest escaping Draco while his cheeks burned red in shame. Tom chuckled, undoing his robe and dropping it to the side, then unzipping his trousers to reveal his rock hard dick. It was much longer, and thicker than the dildo, but Draco couldn't see that.

He pressed back against the head, eyes shutting tightly while his cock stiffened even more beneath him. He felt like such a whore, but that thought only made him pant harder, as his hips were grasped tightly and he was forced back against that thick shaft. His legs parted more, teeth biting into his lower lip to hold in a shriek as his entrance was stretched even more. By the time Tom's hips were flush with Draco's ass, both were heaving heavy breaths; one from the pain, and the other from the pleasure. "Please.." Draco begged, a scenario playing out in his mind where Voldemort heeded his wishes and freed Draco from the bonds and let him run back to Malfoy manor to cry his eyes out. That didn't happen, though. Tom simply ignored him, pushing his length deeper inside of him while Draco bit his lip until it bled.

One thought bitterly resounded in his head, until Draco felt like he was going crazy.

Where was the wizarding world's champion now?

Where was Potter?

Where was he..?

---

Harry stood outside of Voldemort's castle, eyes ablaze with triumph, excitement, and hate. His wand was held tightly in his hand while a shimmer dulled to nothing over the stones. Harry Potter, soon to be hero, had not only located He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Castle-That-Would-Never-Be-Located, he had also countered the glamour on it as well. Feeling like a hero already, he strolled into the residence as if it were his own. His team-mates followed soon after they got the clear, but what they saw surprised them. The castle was seemingly empty, there were no death-eaters in sight and certainly no Voldemort. Harry bit his lip, a small panic rising in his chest. Had they walked into a trap, or maybe a dead end?

"Harry, mate?" A hand clasped his shoulder and the black-haired teen relaxed slightly. Ron was always there. He turned towards his group of witches and wizards, offering them the confident smile he knew they needed, then sobered up, voice sounding uncharacteristically serious.

"Search the place down until you find someone. Try to bring a death-eater back, but don't risk your life doing it. Understand?" When everyone gave their acknowledgments, he turned from them and started up the stairs, while everyone else broke into groups following Ron and Hermione, along with a couple other trained Aurors...

---

Draco lay exhausted against the bed, while his new 'lover' washed up in the bathroom. He gave a soft tug at the shackles that still bound his wrists, and for the millionth time, they did not budge. He hid his face against the sheets as quiet sobs escaped him, not wanting Tom to hear.

It was strange looking at someone long dead, someone who was about your age yet you knew had the mind of a fifty-five year old. Draco shivered in disgust, new tears falling down his cheeks and against the bed. This was so bloody wrong, he didn't want to be Tom's plaything, but it didn't look like he had much of a choice.. His fingers curled into the sheets tightly, while he bit his lip, cringing at the pain that shot through it afterwards. Suddenly, the younger You-Know-Who walked into the room, clad in nothing but a towel with hot droplets of water sliding down his muscular body. Draco shut his eyes tightly. He hated how attractive the other man was, he hated how shivers of a different kind rolled down his back when the older man brushed his fingertips along Draco's skin.

"Sore, are we?" A cool hand, despite how warm the room was, gripped an arse cheek and squeezed. "I'll have a house-elf attend to you."

The simple thought made Draco want to throw up. "No!", he cried out pleadingly, not wanting one of those miniature slimey little things to touch him in any intimiate ways again. "My-.. My lor--" He was cut off by a harsh smack to his bottom, in which a jerk of pain shot all the way up his spine and sent white stars in front of his eyes. He sagged against the bed, panting softly.

"Call me Tom, Draco, or Master when I require it." That punishing hand moved over his back, nails dancing on the skin while Draco felt sick.

"Tom.. I.. I'd prefer to have you do it.." There was an amused chuckle, and then the bed dipped slightly with the weight of the other on it.

"Alright, Dr--.." Draco felt Tom's nails curl back against his palm as he formed a fist against the small of his back, and just in that gesture the blonde knew something was wrong, but he dared not to ask. Suddenly Tom moved from the bed, and began to hastily throw on his clothes and robe. "Someone's here, an unwelcomed guest." His mouth was set in a grim line, while he pulled his wand from his robe pockets. He turned to Draco, and flicked his wrist, the stick in his hand jerking with the movement while he muttered a spell. Draco immediately felt his own wrists slacken, and his neck freed. He looked up at Tom hopefully but his gaze met a dark smirk. "I know what you're thinking. 'As soon as he leaves I'll free myself.', but I think you should take a look in the mirror before you actually try. Get cleaned up, and dress nice for our guests, there should be some things in the wardrobe." With a swish of his robes, he stalked from the room.

Draco lifted himself from the bed slowly, wincing and just about falling when his feet touched the ground. He was so sore! Limping over to the mirror, he fixed his blurry gaze into it. There around his neck, and his wrists, were the same collar and shackles that had been there before. Tom had simply taken the chains away.. But Draco could guess what these things did. He was not exactly savvy in the study of dark objects, but because of his father he knew quite abit. Collars and shackles were anything but painless when one tried to free itself from their owner. Draco gave a shakey sigh, and made his way to the bathroom. He wanted to spend hours in there, cleaning and ridding himself of the pain and humiliation, but that was obviously out of the question. Instead he simply showered, cleaned his mouth, and fixed his hair all in a matter of minutes. Afterwards, still feeling as horrible as before, he made his way back to the bedroom and tentatively opened the door to the wardrobe Tom had pointed out. Inside there were many articles of clothing, that any woman would appreciate, but Draco felt his cheeks burn red with the thought of having to wear clothes like these the rest of his life.

Grudgingly, he picked out the most male outfit he could find. Getting dressed was easy enough, since all that the clothing consisted of was a pair of silky black pants. He wondered if Tom expected him to put on the make-up residing on the vanity, or the many necklaces and jewels he'd had on while Tom stole his virginity away.

A burst of anger clouded his mind for a moment and, without thinking of the consequences, he gripped the closest thing and slammed it into a wall. "FUCKING HELL!" His voice cracked, and he shoved his fist into the nearest wall, then slumped against it with a sob, truly hating himself for not being strong. For giving into his fathers wishes just to appease him, and for letting Tom take his virginity away. Tears anewed and trailing down his cheeks and neck, he weakly got up and moved to the vanity. Sitting down on the chair, he stared at the vials of perfume and tubes of lipstick and eyeliner. He bit his lip harshly, tasting metallic from the wound he'd already bitten before, then, he shakily picked up an eyeliner and applied a little. He'd heard of muggle boys doing this, but had always scoffed, thinking of it as a poncey thing to do. But Draco was a ponce now, wasn't he..?

---

Harry sneered at the young Tom Riddle, his knuckles growing white around his wand. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting an even uglier version of yourself, Voldemort."

Voldemort chuckled, the act looking much too mature for a 17 year old boy, and readied himself with a dueling stance. "Come and get me, little Harry." His eyes were dark, full of loathing and hate.

Harry smirked, a sense of power filling his heart as the first spell escaped his lips.

Somehow, deep inside of him, Harry already knew the ending to this battle.

" Avada Kedavra. "

---
A/N: Hi again! Your reviews on my One-shot 'To be with You.' were extremely encouraging and appreciated, so I got myself together and decided to write a story. I'm not sure if I should continue, though. I hope everyone will take a few moments of their time and leave a review of what you think. And also, if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I plan on taking the time myself to do some review responses, as it's only common courtesy.

A big thank you is sent out to:

Bullkitty

Harrystrulove

HPN

Alienangel119852003

GummiBear [ Adorable pen-name, btw.]

Thrnbrooke

Miss Nikki

Draco_Harry_Lover

Again, thank you all for the support!