Stolen Choice

Title: Stolen Choice
Author: Guanín
E-mail: guanin@herzeleid.net
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J. K. Rowling.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco’s first meeting with Voldemort.
Archive: Yes, just ask.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Warnings: Rape


Cold. For one interminable moment it is all I feel. The biting cold of the night air permeates my skin, chilling my blood; the more bitter cold of dread and terror, gnaws at my bones, freezing my limbs. It invades my senses, wrapping around my body in a terrible vice. I wrap my robes tighter around myself, desperately wishing I were back home, in front of a warm fire, and not at the edge of an oppressive and forbidding forest with only the moon to illuminate my surroundings. I hear a low, guttural sound and instinctively turn my head towards the dark woods, eyes searching hurriedly through the shifting shadows. It probably was only the innocent hoot of an owl but my panicked mind automatically thinks of the most fearsome creature. None more fearsome than the one you are about to face, says a voice in the back of my head.
“Draco,” my father’s sharp call brings me rapidly back to my senses. “Stop shifting your feet. He will be here soon.”
He has scarcely spoken when a faint popping sound draws my attention to a spot in front of me; a moment ago bare and now occupied by a man, if he can be called that. He has an elongated, snakelike body, a flat nose with slits for nostrils, non-existing lips, and bright, blood red eyes that chill me even further. I can feel their heavy gaze on me, probing at my mind.
I fight the sudden urge to flee and remain still; head bowed, eyes downcast, remembering the words father spoke to me before we came. “Keep your head bowed and show respect at all times. Address him as either ‘lord’ or ‘master’; always answer him when he speaks to you and do exactly what he says without question.” The first command is easy to follow; I want to avoid looking into those unnatural crimson eyes as much as I can.
“Lucius,” Voldemort’s voice is a low hiss.
“My lord, I have brouyou you my son as you requested,” I hear my father say.
He steps closer to me, coolly inspecting me. “Your son, yes. Good, very good. He looks sufficiently capable.”
“He is, my lord, I assure you. I’ve taught him all that is necessary of the Dark Arts and made sure he remains faithful to our ways. He won’t disappoint you.”
A wave of trepidation washes over me and the doubts that have been crowding my mind for the last couple of days come suddenly to the forefront. Will I be able to live up to my father’s words? I do know sufficiently about the Dark Arts (I hope) and I have, at least in all outward appearances, advocated the Dark Lord’s ways, but until now I have only heard of him in stories, most of them second or third-hand. My father hasn’t told me much of his own experiences, only what he deemed important. None of which prepared me enough for this creature that stands over me, awing and terrifying me, the malicious tinge in his voice making my soul cringe.
“Draco,” he speaks my name in a soft murmur, his tone interlaid with other feelings I cannot decipher—I’m not sure I want to.
“My lord,” I reply. My voice lacks the necessary strength and comes out a bit shaky. Silently, I berate myself, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Ah, you already address me correctly. Good. I’m sure you will do all you can to ensure that you live up to your father’s expectations, as well as mine.”
Casting aside my tumultuous thoughts, I force some evenness into my words, fervently hoping he cannot see the doubts within my mind. “Yes, my lord, of course.”
I glance up quickly to note his reaction but the inscrutable expression in his eyes and the semi-amused smile on his face only worsen the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.
“Tell me, Draco, how do you feel towards Harry Potter?”
The unexpected question surprises me for a moment. Has father told him of the rivalry between Harry and me? Quickly, not wanting to show hesitation, I answer him, this time more honestly than the first question, knowing that it’s also what he wants to hear.
“I hate him, my lord.”
“As well you should. He has wronged us both, hasn’t he? He believes himself to be superior to us, better, stronger. Dumbledore’s special boy. The old fool probably has him thinking he’s invincible. But we will prove him otherwise, won’t we?”
I know he is mostly referring to how Potter has wronged him but his words still awaken the familiar resentment and anger that I always feel when I think about Potter and how every time I try to get one over him he manages to upstage me. The rules don’t even matter when it comes to him; he is still the teachers’ favorite, except for Snape. Maybe, maybe this is my chance to finally show him who is really the better one between the two of us.
“Yes, my lord. I would do anything I can to see him lowered and humiliated.”
“Anything. You say?”
“Anything.”
The word rushes out of my mouth without a thought, but the sly smile that suddenly curves his paper-thin lips and the wicked gleam in his eyes gives me pause.
He moves a step forward and looks intently into my eyes. I struggle not to tremble under his scrutinizing gaze, not to show the fear and anxiety I feel, though I suspect he can see them clearly in my eyes. He reaches up with onnd and and touches my face, tracing my jaw. I suppress a gasp and try not to jump in shock and revulsion. His hand slides down my throat and settles on my back, right between my shoulder blades. This time, I do recognize one of the emotions heating his red eyes and my stomach gives a sharp lurch.
“Lucius, I’m going to take your son with me. You wait here.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Come, Draco.”
A sharp tug on my back punctuates the order and I have no choice but to obey. I cast one quicnicknicked look towards my father, but I manage to catch his gaze for only a moment before he averts his eyes. For a fleeting second I thought I saw an emotion I have never seen in his cold, grey eyes before— guilt. The cold shivers traveling up and down my spine suddenly intensify.
He continues to guide me with his chilly hand resting beneath the nape of my neck, almost as if to prevent any escape I might try to make. For an alarmed moment I wonder whether he can read my thoughts, then I push the idea out of my mind. Panicking won’t help me.
I move slower than usual, my feet drag at times, they feel heavy, like they have been replaced by lead. I don’t want to reach our destination, don’t want to know what he has in store for me; I’m terrified of the possibility that I may already know.
Either the distance we travel is a short one or my dread has made the minutes unbearably short for too soon we reach an abrupt end to the trees. Through the gloom I see an old, wooden house. It’s not too large, only two floors. I see no lights except for a dim one up on the second floor. He opens the small gate, letting me in first, and we cross the front lawn. At the door he finally withdraws his hand and I let out a breath of relief. Once inside, he leads me up a flight of stairs located right in front of the door. The only sound between us is the creaking of the wooden floorboards and the rapid beating of my heart. Going down a corridor, we enter the room I saw the light coming from; to one side a fireplace casts soft golden shadows on the walls and warms the atmosphere. It’s light contrasts with the pale glow of the moon streaming through the wide windows. My eyes wander over the room’s furnishings and settle quickly on the large bed across from the fire. The futile little hope that I harbored flickers and dies.
The sharp click of the door closing startles me, bringing the cruel reality of my situation back into full focus.
“Draco,” my namlls lls off his tongue, as if he’s savoring it, and I inwardly recoil.
I swallow hard and turn to face him, warily meeting his eyes.
“Yes, my lord,” my voice quavers, barely.
His voice curves into a grotesque parody of a smile while his eyes travel along the contours of my face ravenously. His hand touches me again and follows the path his eyes trace, gliding over my temple, my cheek, my lips, my throat. I struggle with all my remaining strength not to flinch as his cold, clammy fingertips move over me, raising tiny goose bumps over my flesh.
“You know,” he says, “you remind me of your father when he was your age. So young and eager and full of ambition.”
Not feeling eager at all, I idly wonder whether he’s mocking me.
“But there is one matter that still concerns me. One that, unfortunately, your father did not fulfill, though he is slowly redeeming himself. I’m referring to your loyalty.”
My heart skips a beat at the implications of that particular word.
“You said you would do anything to see Harry Potter humiliated. However, not all my plans revolve around Potter. I need to know that you would do anything for me. Would you be willing to swear unswerving loyalty towards me and do any task that I ask of you, even if meant your death?”
The frost that has slowlyn trn traveling along my spine grips my heart in a harsh vice of terror. This is the question I have been dreading, the one I have turned over and over in my head without coming up with a satisfactory answer. I don’t know why I bothered, it’s not like I have a real choice. To say no, to refuse him, is unthinkable. I would be signing my death warrant.
Knowing that my hesitation could be seen as a refusal, I take a deep breath and force the condemning words out of my mouth.
s, ms, my lord.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear that I will be faithful and loyal to you, Lord Voldemort, even unto death.”
It is done. I have handed over my life and will to the fiend that stands before me.
His voice turns harsh. “You must never break that oath, Draco. Never, or you will be forced to deal with the consequences.”
I know perfectly well what he means; obey him or die.
“Yes, Master.”
Subtly, his look changes and I am again prey to his lusty gaze.
“You want to prove your loyalty, Draco?”
It is a veiled order, not a question; I know I have no choice in the matter.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Take off your robe and shirt.”
I am slightly taken aback by his bluntness, though it doesn’t truly surprise me. Avoiding his gaze, I reach up and unbutton my robe, allowing it to fall unceremoniously to the ground. Already I feel more vulnerable without it. My shirt follows; I take it off slowly, softly gasping at the mingled touch of the night air and the warmth of the fire on my exposed skin. Shrugging the white cloth off my arms, I simply stand, head bowed, arms at my sides, silently awaiting his instructions. Despite the heat, I shiver from the repulsive feel of his eyes on me. He moves close, then leisurely walks around me. His hand reaches out and sears a trail down the curve of my spine, drawing a startled gasp from me. His vile touch lingers on my skin after the fingers are gone. I hear him mutter the word ‘lovely’ and I close my eyes, swallowing back the bile of displeasure that rises in my throat. When he finishes, he stands before me again and I look at him cautiously under lowered eyelids.
“Kneel.”
I do as he says, carefully avoiding looking at the conspicuous bulge in his trousers that is directly in front of my eyes. He reaches out again, this time weaving his bony fingers through my hair.
“Draco.”
Heavy with reluctance, I look up into those glowing red eyes; they burn fiercer than the embers in the fire.
“I’m sure you know what to do.”
An insistent tug on my head draws me closer to his crotch until my nose just touches the cloth covering his erection. With a barely whispered, “Yes, Master,” I reach up to his belt and remove the leather from it’s metal trags; gs; then, hands trembling a little, I undo his trousers. His cock practically hits me in the face as it springs up and I instinctively try to back away but the hand on my head detains me. I shut my eyes against the revolting sight but the image is imprinted in the back of my eyelids. A long, narrow shaft, sickly pale. Wrapping my hand around the base, I fight the shudders of revulsion that rack my frame. I open my mouth and take in the head, nearly gagging at the taste. I flick my tongue over a vein, drawing a throaty moan from him. I take him in as far as I can, still trying to control my nausea, and begin a sucking motion, gradually moving my tongue over his flesh. I try to keep my actions as detached as possible from myughtughts, try to pretend that I’m not here, the hard floor scrapping my knees, try to imagine that it’s some else’s cock I’m sucking, try not to think at all, but it’s useless. Nothing can drive away the overwhelming disgust and sickness in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, both his hands clench my head and keep me still while his hips thrust his cock deep within my throat. I choke under the brutal assault and try to relax my muscles in a vain attempt to endure this with less pain. My nostrils flare, trying to inhale sufficient air; my flushed cheeks burn with shame; my jaw aches sharper than ever before; jolts of pain travel through my spine and settle on my shoulder blades. Finally, after seemingly ininabinable minutes of torment, he comes in my mouth, shooting his foul seed deep in my throat. I swallow automatically, the repugnant liquid stinging my insides all the way down. He softens in my mouth, and then pulls out, leaving a smudge of cum and salivrossross my lips. The hands that cruelly clutched my head relaxes and glides over the tender nail prints he left on my skin.
“That was very good, Draco. You show great promise.”
“Thank you, Master,” I respond, my voice hollow. My hurting throat protests the few syllables.
“But that is not all I require of you tonight.”
I clench my eyes shut against the moisture I feel gathering in them. He doesn’t need to tell me what he wants, I already know. I have known since he put his filthy hand on me, since I saw the lusty gleam in his eyes, since he lead me away from my father, since I saw the bed in this room, what else would he want from me?
“Stand up.”
I obey, resignation flowing through me.
“Take off your trousers and shoes.”
I fulfill the cold command mechanically, focused solely on my task, not on what is about to happen. I can’t think about that; it won’t do me any good anyway. I already sold my body to him; at the same instant I spoke those damming words. Still, I can’t prevent the trembling in my limbs, the uncommon clumsiness in my fingers as I slip off my shoes and socks and unclasp my trousers, pushing them, along with my underwear, to the ground. My eyes remain steadfastly fixed on a spot on the floor near my feet, avoiding looking at him. I couldn’t before, much less can I now. I am naked, vulnerable, totally exposed. I want to wrap my arms around myself, to cover my bare skin. Never have I felt more defenseless than at this moment. It is a strange feeling, being vulnerable, when my entire life guards and wards have been set around me, protecting me, keeping me safe. Now there is nothing to defend me from the long, languid gaze raking over my skin, inspecting me; nothing to separate me from the cool breaths brushing over the back of my neck as he comes closer. I shiver with horrified anticipation and brace myself.
I gasp as I feel his renewed erection press against my hip and cool words are spoken next to my ear.
“Get on your hands and knees on the bed.”
I move sly tly to the bed to flee the loathsome presence of his body, even if it’s only for a few moments. Climbing on the mattress, I get in the position he wants and wait. And wait. My rapidly beating heart hammers against my chest. I take deep breaths in an attempt to calm my quivering body. I must relax my muscles; it will hurt more if I don’t relax. An ugly laugh bubbles in my throat. Relax? In these circumstances the word seems ridiculous.
A sudden dip in mattmattress behind me announces his arrival and thoughts of possible relaxation flee my mind. He cups my buttocks, squeezing them roughly. I force myself not to cringe from his touch. Spreading me open, he puts a finger inside and a drowned whimper escapes me.
“So tight,” he murmurs.
I bite down on my bottom lip so I don’t cry out, stifling the quiet shame that permeates my spirit.
I don’t get a moment’s notice before he removes his finger, grabs my hipsd imd impales me, making my world explode in a red haze of pain. I do shout this time. My breath comes in quick, aching gasps. He thrusts cruelly into my body, nails biting into my flesh as he rocks my hips back to meet him. His deep groans of enjoyment grate my ears, tearing into my soul. I clutch the mattress, digging with my own nails, struggling to remain upright. My closed eyes burn with unshed tears; one flows down my cheek after a particularly vicious thrust. The pain jolts through my body, wracking my frame, overwhelming me, it is too much, I can’t take it, I can’t… He erupts deep within me and his seed stings my torn passage, aggravating the wounds. As soon as he pulls out and releases me my arms give out and I collapse upon the bed, curling up on my side, eyes stiirmlirmly closed. The mattress groans lightly as he leaves, but I don’t pay him any attention. All I want is for the pain to stop.
I lie quietly for, what? Minutes? Hours? I don’t care.
Faint shuffling sounds nearby tell me he is standing next to the bed. I open glazed eyes to see him grab my left wrist and pull my arm from its safe niche under my body. I don’t resist as he bares my forearm.
“Now this may sting a little.”
Pain floods me again, this time concentrated on my arm, sharp, flaming, burning. My mouth flies open as a jagged scream tears from my throat. I think I pass out for a few moments from the agony. When I open my eyes again, I see the Mark, bright red, burned into my skin. I have been branded like cattle, marked as one of his, a wound that will fade but never heal.
“Draco.”
I barely register my name, just the cool, harsh authority in his voice.
“Yes, Master?” I answer, my voice broken.
“Get up and look at me.”
I rise shakily, wincing at the protests of my body as I shift positions. I look up into his fierce red eyes and my soul cringes at the steel in his words.
“You are mine now. You are to come to me when I summon you and do what I ask of you without hesitation. If you refuse me in any way, you will sorely regret it. Understand?”
My answer is automatic. “Yes, Master.”
“Good. Your father will inform you of the details. Now get dressed. It is time for you to go.”
I hurriedly walk over to my discarded clothes and gingerly pull on my trousers, ignoring the dull ache in my lower body. Pain shoots through my arm as the fabric of the shirt scrapes the fresh wound.
Once I am ready, he motions me to the door, which I open, then we walk out together, me in front and he following close behind. My feet move absently on the wooden floor, remembering the way. I don’t pay any attention to my surroundings now, I just move mechanically.
It is lighter outside than when we came in; the sky is no longer pitch black but a deep blue. The air is still chilly but it doesn’t bother me now, I notice it with the same detachment as everything else. I’m too numb.
Father comes into view; he quickly raises himself from a sitting position and comes to greet Voldemort. He casts furtive glances at me from beneath lowered eyelids, taking in my left arm, which I cradle to my chest under my robes, and my face. I refuse to meet his eyes. Instead, I remain to the side while Voldemort gives him his instructions, looking away yet seeing nothing. I don’t hear the words either and only listen for the pause that will signal the end of the meeting. When it comes I move to stand by father’s side and together we bow to Lord Voldemort as he dismisses us. He Disapparates, and I quickly do the same, Apparating in my own room. I move to close the door and find father standing at the threshold, his stance hesitant.
“Draco—,” he inquires, voice cautiously apprehensive. This time I do look him in the eye and lay bare all the anger, the anguish, the loathing for him to see. He looks startled and a guilty expression washes over his usually cold demeanor, though it happens so quickly I might have missed it if I hadn’t been looking. I open my mouth only to shut it again. There are so many things I want to tell him; I can feel the words rising in my throat, harsh, callous, burning my insides. I want to yell, to scream, to inform him of every little detail of what that bastard did to me. I want to curse him for taking me there, for leaving me alone with that monster. I want him to wallow in the same shame that I feel, I want him to choke on his precious guilt just like I choked, to cringe just like I cringed, to… so many things. And in the end I say none of them, I only glare, speaking through my eyes. I don’t know for how long we stand here, gazes locked. He is the first to look away, but not before I see something in his eyes that freezes my limbs.
I shut the door a bit more softly than I had intended and lean my forehead against it. I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. This can’t be, it can’t. It shouldn’t be but there is no mistaking the expression of total and complete understanding on father’s eyes. The sheer irony hits me like a bludger to the gut. My breath hitches and my eyes water; I squeeze them shut. Taking deep shuddering breaths, I place my hands flat on the door, leave them there for a moment, then lift myself off it. I walk unevenly across the room and crawl into my bed, not bringring to even take off my shoes. I pull the covers over me up to my neck and bury my face into the pillow. Tears emerge from behind my closed eyelids and flow down my cheeks. A ragged sob escapes my throat. I clutch the blanket tighter around my curled limbs. The ache in my arm is still painfully palpable; the burn smarts terribly every time I shift it. I don’t want to think about it, not him or my father or the rape or anything. It’s too much. I’ll just lie here and wait for the dawn, not thinking, only quiet. I can’t even feel the cold anymore.