Marked

Betas: LBaum, asm614, Mini Mouse and Vera.
Pairing: Voldemort/Draco/Bellatrix
Warnings: HPB Spoilers. Horror piece. Expect no romance or fluff here. Language, Explicit M/M Sex, Anal, Oral, Blood, Humiliation, Rape of Character Under 18.
Notes: Pre-HBP. Thanks to corvusdea for help with Latin for spells. Was written for and posted on hp_darkfest. Prompt for the fest was: "The thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished and pruned pricks more deeply and draws more blood." by Maya Angelou. Although this piece stands alone as a one-shot, it is actually first in a series of Draco’s POV on the last two HP books. I will post more later.

Draco’s fingers trembled as he fastened the long black robe his Aunt Bellatrix had thrust at him, smiling with a glint in her mad eyes as she told him to wear nothing but the simple garment. He didn’t know what the ritual involved and he desperately wished again that his father were here to ask, if not to prevent it. Lucius was in prison and now it was Draco’s turn to serve the Dark Lord in his place.

He swallowed hard, mouth dry and tasting bitter as he tried to control himself, forcing measured steps, head held high as he left his room, bare feet walking along expensive Persian carpets and down the marble stairs to the ballroom. Or what had been the ballroom. Now it was Lord Voldemort’s throne room. Their Master had moved into Malfoy Manor, saying it was only right that he should take Lucius’ place as head of their house as well as their Master.

Two robed and masked figures stood on either side of the large oak double doors, silently opening them when Draco approached. His teeth clenched so hard they ground against each other as he forced himself to stride, giving the appearance of confidence he didn't feel, into the chamber beyond.

The walls were hung with black banners between each of the wall torches, the Dark Mark in glowing green on each of them. At the far end of the marble hall, a raised dais, meant for musicians during a ball, now featured an enormous, ornately carved chair – a throne. The Dark Lord himself sat upon it, Bellatrix standing to his right. Standing along the walls were the rest of the inner circle, a dozen Death Eaters in full robes and masks. They stood like statues, but their eyes followed Draco as he moved to kneel at the base of the dais.

Draco knelt, head bowed, not yet looking up into the horrible face of the creature who terrified him more than anything else. He tried to remind himself that this was for his father, locked in a cell in Azkaban, and his mother, locked in her room upstairs. Only his cooperation, his loyalty to the Master, could hope to save them, let alone earn their freedom.

“Well, young Malfoy,” Voldemort spoke. “Do you wish to serve me as your father pledged to?”

Draco licked his lips, trying to conjure saliva and a voice. “Yes, my Lord,” he answered.

“Let’s hope you are more successful than Lucius was in meeting my demands,” Voldemort continued, and Draco didn’t speak, since it wasn’t a question. “Look up, Malfoy.”

Draco took a shuddering breath and forced himself to look up into those mad red eyes. He drew on every ounce of skill at Occlumancy to shield his terror and show only obedience. He felt his mind assaulted, memories ripped from him painfully, gasping. His failures to defeat Potter, especially in Umbridge's office the night of the Ministry attack, all tumbled out. When it stopped, Draco swayed on his knees, stomach roiling. His teeth ground together again as he sucked in deep breaths through his nose, willing his face into an emotionless mask.

“A loyal son,” Voldemort said, the words approving but the tone amused. Draco’s face prickled in heat at the feeling he was being mocked. “Will you step into your father’s place, give yourself over completely to my service?”

“I would be honoured to serve you, my Lord,” Draco answered, voice as firm as he could make it, relieved and repulsed when the lipless mouth of the Dark Lord smiled at him.

Those nearly skeletal hands rose from the arms of the throne and slid down the Dark Lord’s chest, opening the black robe he wore. Draco’s eyes grew wide in shock as he saw the bony pale chest and then the hairless groin. The snake-like prick twitched, filling and rising as Draco watched. Draco stopped breathing and struggled to keep from shivering as he broke out into a cold sweat.

“Show me your service, Malfoy,” Voldemort commanded, voice smug.

Draco’s eyes flicked to where his aunt stood watching and his stomach dropped when he saw her eager smile. Bile rose in his throat and he had to force it back.

He hadn’t been given leave to rise, so Draco forced himself to crawl forward, up three marble steps until he knelt directly in front of the Master. He knew what was being demanded of him. He knew that if he didn’t do it, he and his family were as good as dead, maybe worse.

“I remember the first time your father dropped to his knees and begged to serve me,” Voldemort said. “He was as young as you are now, but much more eager.”

Draco trembled in shock at that. Did his father … do … this? He forced himself to look again at the long pale flesh in front of him. The head was flushed darker and rose from the folds of foreskin. Draco bit the inside of his lip, breathing through his nose for a moment before he shuffled close enough that he was now between the Master’s feet, knees pressed to the base of the chair. He couldn’t seem to control the tremor in his hand as he reached for it then.

He felt the slight shudder in the wizard’s body as Draco’s fingers wrapped around that warm shaft. He was surprised. He supposed the snake-like countenance of both the organ and it’s owner had led him expect it would be cold. He began stroking it, moving the foreskin up and down.

“Yes, your father greedily opened my robes and swallowed me down,” Voldemort went on. The image conjured into Draco’s mind at that made him bite his lip so hard he tasted blood. He knew the story was also a direction so he leant forward, parting his lips and closing his eyes as he sucked the head into his mouth. The taste was as bitter as he expected, more coppery than his own blood had been.

Draco gagged but forced himself not to show it, using the movement of his hand to try to cover for it. The Dark Lord’s breathing was loud to his ears. Draco forced his tongue to move, to curl around the head of the monstrous thing in his mouth, sucking now. That brought another tremble from Voldemort. Draco sucked harder and began moving his hand with it. He needed this to be over before he lost control of his stomach.

He startled when he felt a hand on the back of his head, pushing him further down onto the prick. It took more will than he thought he had to force himself to let more of that thing inside him, bobbing his head up and down. It seemed to go on forever, his jaw twinging painfully, his hand cramping and his throat threatening to close completely each time the thing brushed the back of it. Draco brought his other hand up, cupping the smooth sac of the Master’s balls. Suddenly, his mouth was flooded with a vile slick hot liquid and he nearly lost it. He choked, tears threatening to fall as he tried to swallow it. He didn't know the punishment for not swallowing the Master’s seed and he didn’t want to find out. Some still dribbled out the corners of his mouth and his stomach felt like fire as he gulped it down.

The hand on his head lifted and Draco pulled back, gasping for breath and trying not to vomit in the Master’s lap. He forced his mouth closed, breathing down the nausea, and waited for a sign of what was next.

“You pledge to give yourself to me, that I will command and own your body, your blood and your magic?” Voldemort asked.

Draco wiped the come from his lips and nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Prepare him, then,” Voldemort said.

Draco looking up in surprise as Aunt Bellatrix stepped toward him. “Come, Draco,” she said. He got to his feet and she took his hand, leading him back down the steps. There was a grinding noise, and a section of the marble floor began to rise in the centre of the room until it was nearly Draco’s waist high. He realised with a start that it was an altar.

His aunt reached for the front of his robes and unfastened them while Draco stood trembling in fear at the realisation that this was probably far from over. His skin shivered, prickling despite the fact that the room was warm. His face flushed. He was standing naked before a room of Death Eaters.

“Lie down and await your Master,” Bellatrix told him in a voice filled with her mad devotion to Voldemort.

Draco wanted to scream that he was only sixteen. He wanted to run. He felt like his skin was turning to ice as he moved to lie down on the equally cold slab. His mind conjured images of his heart cut out with a dagger. They won’t kill me, I am taking the mark, he told himself. The slab wasn’t as long as he was tall and for a moment he sat there shaking, confused as to what to do. Two of the figures along the wall came forward, standing on either side. He didn’t know if they were there to stop him if he changed his mind or to do something to him.

At a gesture from his aunt, each man took hold of one of Draco’s legs, lifting them up and forcing him on to his back. His heart began racing even faster when he realised how exposed this made him, arse on the edge of the altar, legs in the air. He started to struggle, to try to sit up again. His aunt shook her head. “Relax and prepare to receive our Master, to give yourself to him,” she said.

He looked up into her eyes, wanting to plead with her but saw the glittering shine of her devotion, her madness. There was no help for him, and he knew it. He gripped the sides of the altar with both hands, body shaking in his terror. She smiled.

He nearly yelped when he felt her fingers on his groin, trying to coax movement from flesh that had nearly retreated into his body. Her hands were warm and yet his cock barely responded. Draco closed his eyes. He must submit or die, he reminded himself. He tried to focus only on the touch, to put out of his mind who it was or where he was. He finally felt the first stirrings in his cock and focused on them again. Skilled fingers pulling and squeezing, thumb flicking on and over the glans. Then warm wet lips slid over the head. Draco’s knuckles were white and he kept his eyes screwed shut, allowing the pleasure to build.

He had almost managed to put out of his mind the men's hands holding him spread obscenely or the fact that it was his aunt who was fellating him. He was young and his prick seemed less concerned with these facts than he was. Suddenly, the mouth was gone and he heard a whispered spell just before he felt something wrap tightly around the base of his cock and balls. He looked up and saw Voldemort standing behind his aunt. She bowed and moved aside. The Master stood, robe open and prick still erect. Red eyes looked down at Draco and those non-existent lips pulled back grotesquely in what appeared to be a parody of a smile.

Draco startled when he felt hands on his arm and looked up as Bellatrix lifted his left hand, holding it palm up toward the Dark Lord. Draco saw the blade handed to Voldemort from one of the men still holding him in place and watched as if it were someone else's flesh. The Dark Lord drew the point against his arm, blood welling from the wound. It dripped into a golden chalice held under his arm by his aunt.

“ Rapio sanguinem tuum,” Voldemort intoned and Draco felt a wave of heat in his body. Around them the others answered, “Blood binds us to our Master.”

Bellatrix tightened her grip on Draco’s arm as he felt the two men pulling his legs wider, drawing him up so that he was nearly bent in half. Draco had never felt more exposed, more helpless in his life as Voldemort moved closer. Draco’s cock was bound magically, otherwise he was sure it would not still be jutting obscenely up. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off that lipless smile as he felt the Dark Lord’s cock pressing against the unprotected and unprepared ring of his anus. Draco wanted to beg, to plead, but ground his teeth together to stop himself. The path of resistance led to death, or worse than death. Wasn’t this worse than death? he wondered, but remembered his mother and father’s lives also depended on this sacrifice.

The cut had been nothing. The pain that now laced up Draco’s spine before invading every nerve in his body tore a strangled scream from his throat. He couldn’t hold it back, feeling like he was being ripped open as the Dark Lord forced his prick inside of him. The scream didn’t seem to bother Voldemort, whose smile widened as he began to thrust, working his cock deeper into Draco.

Draco felt his eyes burn and the tears begin to flow, his only free hand still gripping the edge of the marble so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if he broke his own fingers. His other limbs were held tight despite his struggles, the fingers of his aunt and the two attendants digging into his flesh. It burned and Draco continued to moan in pain as Voldemort thrust hard and deep, but not fast.

“You look like your mother,” Voldemort said, panting slightly and Draco opened his eyes in surprise. “I took my rights as their Lord. Droit de seigneur. First night with Lucius’ bride. I fucked her while he watched, then turned him over and took him on his knees while she watched.”

Draco’s mouth opened in horror, his own grey eyes wide as he met those red eyes. He didn’t think it was Legilimency, but he swore he could see the scene as it played out disturbingly in his mind.

Voldemort laughed, thrusting harder. “She hadn’t known just how he served me before that,” he explained as if it was the punch-line to a great joke.

Pain and revulsion blurred and Draco would have welcomed passing out. He didn’t. Instead, he felt heat building in his cock as well. The Dark Lord’s thrusts finally increased in speed and he could hear both Voldemort and his aunt panting.

Bellatrix gasped a release on the spell and Draco howled as he came suddenly, his head tossing from side to side uncontrollably as he was taken over by the pain-filled pleasure. He felt fingers on his cock and the cold rim of the cup. Looking down, he realised Bellatrix had caught his semen in the same cup as his blood. The Dark Lord thrust faster now and Draco looked up to see the pleasure on that horrible face as Voldemort came, shuddering slightly as he filled Draco with his seed. He didn’t pull out or soften but stood there, looking down at Draco as he spoke. “Rapio semen tuum, he said, and the others answered, “Seed in service of our Master.”

Voldemort lifted his wand, touching it to Draco’s head. Sharp pain struck between his temples and he hissed as he saw a shining strand pulled from him. The Dark Lord added that to the chalice, intoning, “Rapio magiam tuam.” The others chanted in reply, “Magic bound to serve our Master.”

Bellatrix was still holding Draco’s arm with her other hand. She handed the chalice to Voldemort, who poured the mixture onto Draco’s forearm. The lump was glowing blood red as he intoned, “Morsmordre! .”

“We eat death,” the others intoned and Draco screamed as the fluids seared into his arm, burning the Dark Mark into his flesh. Voldemort moaned as Draco’s body writhed around the cock still buried inside him. Fire raced through Draco’s body, agony white hot with it as he lost consciousness.


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