When His Screams Died
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
2
Views:
4,780
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
2
Views:
4,780
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story
Part 1
WARNINGS: DARK AU (Alternate Universe). Insane Lucius. Rape, torture, angst, disturbing subject matter, possible squick.
*
Part 1
*
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it, his father’s slow slip into madness brought about by grief and possible torture himself… the boy, a gift and an apology to do with as he saw fit, outside of killing him of course, for the “untimely” passing of his mother.
He hadn’t expected him to bring the boy here, to his house, and he could hear his screams, from the room his father had dragged him. He hadn’t expected his father to torture him, or rather torture him this much.
He hadn’t expected for it to be so loud, and so abrasive. He wanted to back into a corner to get away from it, put his hands over his ears to make it stop. But he didn’t.
When his screams died the silence was the worst of all.
He had thought it would have been over. He had thought, as he walked to the room, that his father would have finished and that the other boy would be unconscious. What he saw, however, threatened to shatter everything he knew to be right in the world that had already proved itself to be so wrong.
He had Harry bent over the side of the couch. His father was still clothed of course… almost completely, except for that one detail, which contrasted neatly with the bare and battered skin of his school yard enemy.
He stared. He stood, frozen, and watched as his father pressed the weakly struggling boy’s face harder into the cushions as he thrust inside of him, using the other hand to support himself as he did so.
To make it worse the other boy saw him… saw him though he wasn’t sure how much he could see without his glasses. His face definitely registered that he was there, that *someone* was there. Draco had to wrench his eyes away from those impossibly wide green ones as he did the only thing he could do… he turned and walked away.
*
The pain was bad, true, but he could take it, he had felt it before. He made no effort to conceal his agony as he screamed and cried as the curse rolled through him in hot waves of pain. There was no point. There was no one here to hear him… well, except for…
Then it changed. Suddenly the haughty look on his face twisted into one with more rage than he had shown when cursing him and he fell upon him, haulled him to his feet to strike him, hard against the face, hard enough to make his head ring. His glasses had gone flying ages ago, but he dragged him in close, close enough so he could see the anger, sickening in its intensity. “You could never replace her,” he spat, and Harry wondered at that, wondered if that was why he had not seen Malfoy’s mother when he had been dragged here, wondered if that was why Lucius was physically attacking him when he had shown repulsion at doing so before.
When Malfoy began to tug and tear at his clothes he didn’t wonder about anything any longer.
He was too weak, his muscles seizing from the Cruciatus, couldn’t even ball a hand into a fist to try to strike him. He threw his body into struggling but even those movements were slow and sluggish and another few seconds of being cursed brought him to his knees. He was wrenched up again, thrown over the couch, and the work resumed on his clothes.
“Stop,” Harry breathed as his pants were removed. “Stop!” he said again as he was flipped, ass in the air and suddenly nothing mattered more than trying to escape. He struggled in earnst, but was still too weak, and he moaned in fear as hard hands parted him.
“Please,” Harry begged, a chill breaking out over his body. “Please don’t do this. Please…” he trailed off and jerked involuntarily as a finger probed his entrance.
Harry gasped. It was completely and utterly wrong, this, and the errant thought cross his mind that this was Draco’s father and … “I’m the same age as your son.” he said with quiet desperation, like it should matter that he was a teenager, a child compared to the man behind him. Of course that didn’t matter and all he got was a bark of laughter, which sounded not quite sane. And then he pushed inside.
It was horrible and it felt like he was being ripped open, but he didn’t scream. For some reason it mattered now to not make any noise, to not give the man that satisfaction. He bit his lip so hard it bled and concentrated on trying not to think about what was happening to him, on anything else than this, to take himself away to a different place and…
A movement caught his eye. He couldn’t see, not well, but well enough to recognize the shape of the younger Malfoy, standing at the entrance of the room. Harry felt sick then, sicker than he had the entire time since he was caught and all he could think of was how much he didn’t want to have Draco see this. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want him to see his father or him or both. He felt humiliated, completely and utterly, and helpless as the other boy didn't say anything, do anything, save for turning heel and walking away.
*
He couldn’t see, not without his glasses and now with one of his eyes nearly swollen shut, and in his confused disorientation he thought it was him. He jerked helplessly at the bindings trying to get away, small sharp cries welling up from his throat as the other crouched in front of him.
A hand touched his shoulder, not roughly but gently, the touch was different and Harry stilled. He looked up and saw it was not the older man but the younger, Draco… it wasn’t much better, Draco hated him as well, probably thought he was disgusting laying in his own filth and blood and probably just as eager to add to it…
And then he recognized the sound of water dripping in a bowl. He stopped completely, stopped moving altogether, watched as delicate thin fingers rang out a cloth and brought it up. He went to touch Harry’s face with it and the motion, small as it was, frightened him and he flinched. Draco paused, just a second, before continuing, pressing the cold cloth to his bruised cheek. Harry’s eyes darted back up to his face, studying him and Draco’s eyes met his own.
He didn’t say anything, Harry wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say, and he certainly couldn’t think of anything to say anything back. Instead Draco continued silently, blotting the blood from his face, running the cloth against the skin that was broken where he had bitten his lip, and then under his nose where it had been smashed. He wasn’t attacking him, that was good, and the expression on his face did not carry any malice.
He cleaned his face but nothing else of him, and paused then, studying him with the same expression on his face and Harry wondered at that, wondered at what he was thinking and what he saw. Wasn’t he disgusted…? But then he probably was. However he couldn’t piece it together, what this was for, to clean him when a scourgify would do, a spell that Lucius had used on him already a couple times. Draco didn’t offer any other explanation and after a moment got up and left without another word.
*
It nearly became a routine, a sick perverted one where Harry found himself beaten then raped daily, usually in that order. He stopped hiding his screams, his moans of pain and sobs, it didn’t matter any longer and he was too weak to care. He sicked up when forced to swallow cum and was forced to lick that up, pissed on himself when he went too long without being allowed to relieve himself, which was scourgified away, and went days without eating and only given gulps of the occasional wand created water as it splashed over his face, mostly to clean it of fresh blood.
His father did not seem to care as a silent Draco came and washed him a couple more times. On one of those times he brought a piece of bread with butter on it, and Harry ate it ravenously, glad for the bit of food.
Another time his arm broke when the elder Malfoy wrenched it back while fucking him and didn’t let it go even as Harry screamed and didn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t stop screaming.
His screams even brought Draco again, Harry could see him on the edge of the room, his face a blob of pale pale white from what he could see of him.
“Father,” he spoke, the first words he had heard him say since he had been brought here. His voice was weak. Scared. “You’ll kill him.”
“Get out!” Lucius snarled and Draco went.
He repaired Harry’s arm after that, but it still ached and ached… ached so much he couldn’t sleep, moaning as he held it limply against his side, drifting in and out of consciousness. That night he was only tied up by his foot, giving him range and freedom and possible escape but he didn’t move, didn’t have the strength to go anywhere.
Lucius did not visit that night but Draco did, Harry nearly expected it at that point, found the quiet presence of his former enemy comforting. It was twisted, he knew, to find the presence of someone comforting who did nothing to relieve his suffering, but he wanted it and craved it.
Draco cried that night. Simply sat in front of him, hands clenched in his lap and head bowed as silent tears fell from his eyes.
And Harry felt pity for him then as he watched him cry, poor little rich kid that he was, cowardly that he was, trapped as he was. He wanted to help him. He had nothing left to give, or nearly nothing, but he moved, using scraps of energy he no longer knew he had to bring the not formerly broken arm forwards and touched his knee with shaking fingers. Grey eyes flashed up to meet his own, full of desperate, hopeless despair and then he looked away quickly, breaking down more.
It was embarrassing, and he wondered at that, both that he could still feel embarrassment, and that he could feel embarrassment for someone else while striped and beaten and starved as he was. Malfoy sobered up quickly enough, thankfully, and drew away. He sat back, against the wall near Harry’s head and pressed back against it. He didn’t say anything, but didn’t move, instead just sat there with his pale face that looked so much like his father it made Harry shudder a bit and would have made him shudder more if it wasn’t for the utter misery there.
He sat with him until a fitful sleep finally took Harry.
*
*
Part 1
*
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it, his father’s slow slip into madness brought about by grief and possible torture himself… the boy, a gift and an apology to do with as he saw fit, outside of killing him of course, for the “untimely” passing of his mother.
He hadn’t expected him to bring the boy here, to his house, and he could hear his screams, from the room his father had dragged him. He hadn’t expected his father to torture him, or rather torture him this much.
He hadn’t expected for it to be so loud, and so abrasive. He wanted to back into a corner to get away from it, put his hands over his ears to make it stop. But he didn’t.
When his screams died the silence was the worst of all.
He had thought it would have been over. He had thought, as he walked to the room, that his father would have finished and that the other boy would be unconscious. What he saw, however, threatened to shatter everything he knew to be right in the world that had already proved itself to be so wrong.
He had Harry bent over the side of the couch. His father was still clothed of course… almost completely, except for that one detail, which contrasted neatly with the bare and battered skin of his school yard enemy.
He stared. He stood, frozen, and watched as his father pressed the weakly struggling boy’s face harder into the cushions as he thrust inside of him, using the other hand to support himself as he did so.
To make it worse the other boy saw him… saw him though he wasn’t sure how much he could see without his glasses. His face definitely registered that he was there, that *someone* was there. Draco had to wrench his eyes away from those impossibly wide green ones as he did the only thing he could do… he turned and walked away.
*
The pain was bad, true, but he could take it, he had felt it before. He made no effort to conceal his agony as he screamed and cried as the curse rolled through him in hot waves of pain. There was no point. There was no one here to hear him… well, except for…
Then it changed. Suddenly the haughty look on his face twisted into one with more rage than he had shown when cursing him and he fell upon him, haulled him to his feet to strike him, hard against the face, hard enough to make his head ring. His glasses had gone flying ages ago, but he dragged him in close, close enough so he could see the anger, sickening in its intensity. “You could never replace her,” he spat, and Harry wondered at that, wondered if that was why he had not seen Malfoy’s mother when he had been dragged here, wondered if that was why Lucius was physically attacking him when he had shown repulsion at doing so before.
When Malfoy began to tug and tear at his clothes he didn’t wonder about anything any longer.
He was too weak, his muscles seizing from the Cruciatus, couldn’t even ball a hand into a fist to try to strike him. He threw his body into struggling but even those movements were slow and sluggish and another few seconds of being cursed brought him to his knees. He was wrenched up again, thrown over the couch, and the work resumed on his clothes.
“Stop,” Harry breathed as his pants were removed. “Stop!” he said again as he was flipped, ass in the air and suddenly nothing mattered more than trying to escape. He struggled in earnst, but was still too weak, and he moaned in fear as hard hands parted him.
“Please,” Harry begged, a chill breaking out over his body. “Please don’t do this. Please…” he trailed off and jerked involuntarily as a finger probed his entrance.
Harry gasped. It was completely and utterly wrong, this, and the errant thought cross his mind that this was Draco’s father and … “I’m the same age as your son.” he said with quiet desperation, like it should matter that he was a teenager, a child compared to the man behind him. Of course that didn’t matter and all he got was a bark of laughter, which sounded not quite sane. And then he pushed inside.
It was horrible and it felt like he was being ripped open, but he didn’t scream. For some reason it mattered now to not make any noise, to not give the man that satisfaction. He bit his lip so hard it bled and concentrated on trying not to think about what was happening to him, on anything else than this, to take himself away to a different place and…
A movement caught his eye. He couldn’t see, not well, but well enough to recognize the shape of the younger Malfoy, standing at the entrance of the room. Harry felt sick then, sicker than he had the entire time since he was caught and all he could think of was how much he didn’t want to have Draco see this. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want him to see his father or him or both. He felt humiliated, completely and utterly, and helpless as the other boy didn't say anything, do anything, save for turning heel and walking away.
*
He couldn’t see, not without his glasses and now with one of his eyes nearly swollen shut, and in his confused disorientation he thought it was him. He jerked helplessly at the bindings trying to get away, small sharp cries welling up from his throat as the other crouched in front of him.
A hand touched his shoulder, not roughly but gently, the touch was different and Harry stilled. He looked up and saw it was not the older man but the younger, Draco… it wasn’t much better, Draco hated him as well, probably thought he was disgusting laying in his own filth and blood and probably just as eager to add to it…
And then he recognized the sound of water dripping in a bowl. He stopped completely, stopped moving altogether, watched as delicate thin fingers rang out a cloth and brought it up. He went to touch Harry’s face with it and the motion, small as it was, frightened him and he flinched. Draco paused, just a second, before continuing, pressing the cold cloth to his bruised cheek. Harry’s eyes darted back up to his face, studying him and Draco’s eyes met his own.
He didn’t say anything, Harry wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say, and he certainly couldn’t think of anything to say anything back. Instead Draco continued silently, blotting the blood from his face, running the cloth against the skin that was broken where he had bitten his lip, and then under his nose where it had been smashed. He wasn’t attacking him, that was good, and the expression on his face did not carry any malice.
He cleaned his face but nothing else of him, and paused then, studying him with the same expression on his face and Harry wondered at that, wondered at what he was thinking and what he saw. Wasn’t he disgusted…? But then he probably was. However he couldn’t piece it together, what this was for, to clean him when a scourgify would do, a spell that Lucius had used on him already a couple times. Draco didn’t offer any other explanation and after a moment got up and left without another word.
*
It nearly became a routine, a sick perverted one where Harry found himself beaten then raped daily, usually in that order. He stopped hiding his screams, his moans of pain and sobs, it didn’t matter any longer and he was too weak to care. He sicked up when forced to swallow cum and was forced to lick that up, pissed on himself when he went too long without being allowed to relieve himself, which was scourgified away, and went days without eating and only given gulps of the occasional wand created water as it splashed over his face, mostly to clean it of fresh blood.
His father did not seem to care as a silent Draco came and washed him a couple more times. On one of those times he brought a piece of bread with butter on it, and Harry ate it ravenously, glad for the bit of food.
Another time his arm broke when the elder Malfoy wrenched it back while fucking him and didn’t let it go even as Harry screamed and didn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t stop screaming.
His screams even brought Draco again, Harry could see him on the edge of the room, his face a blob of pale pale white from what he could see of him.
“Father,” he spoke, the first words he had heard him say since he had been brought here. His voice was weak. Scared. “You’ll kill him.”
“Get out!” Lucius snarled and Draco went.
He repaired Harry’s arm after that, but it still ached and ached… ached so much he couldn’t sleep, moaning as he held it limply against his side, drifting in and out of consciousness. That night he was only tied up by his foot, giving him range and freedom and possible escape but he didn’t move, didn’t have the strength to go anywhere.
Lucius did not visit that night but Draco did, Harry nearly expected it at that point, found the quiet presence of his former enemy comforting. It was twisted, he knew, to find the presence of someone comforting who did nothing to relieve his suffering, but he wanted it and craved it.
Draco cried that night. Simply sat in front of him, hands clenched in his lap and head bowed as silent tears fell from his eyes.
And Harry felt pity for him then as he watched him cry, poor little rich kid that he was, cowardly that he was, trapped as he was. He wanted to help him. He had nothing left to give, or nearly nothing, but he moved, using scraps of energy he no longer knew he had to bring the not formerly broken arm forwards and touched his knee with shaking fingers. Grey eyes flashed up to meet his own, full of desperate, hopeless despair and then he looked away quickly, breaking down more.
It was embarrassing, and he wondered at that, both that he could still feel embarrassment, and that he could feel embarrassment for someone else while striped and beaten and starved as he was. Malfoy sobered up quickly enough, thankfully, and drew away. He sat back, against the wall near Harry’s head and pressed back against it. He didn’t say anything, but didn’t move, instead just sat there with his pale face that looked so much like his father it made Harry shudder a bit and would have made him shudder more if it wasn’t for the utter misery there.
He sat with him until a fitful sleep finally took Harry.
*