Title: Gravity
Author: Yaoi no Megami
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Get over it.
Word Count: 3,788
Summary: What will the Boy Who Lived do when the very darkness he tried so desperately to escape returns with a vengeance to tear at the crevices of his mind, ravage his body, and engulf his very soul? PreHBP. Eventual HPDM.
Warnings: Torture, Non-consensual sex/rape …
Notes: Please, I beg of you, go to my livejournal because it's my baby. XD The link is in my profile. I'm looking for an editor/beta if anyone's interested! I like to have more than one on hand… because mine tend to disappear. Thanks go to MistressNashyamy for providing the structure of the non-con scene. Two spells in Latin, easy to figure out if you pay attention. I don't actually know Latin… so you know the drill.
Immotus – motionless recipient cannot move
Incruente – without blood shed used to clot blood, stop blood flow
-:- .:. -:- Please do this now, I beg— Duct tape my arms and legs, throw me into the sea… -:- .:. -:-
Chapter One: Please, Save Me
Harry's eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion clouding his mind when a fuzzy world stared back at him. Sprawled out on the cold stone floor, a definite sense of exhaustion began to register as waves of nausea passed over him. He blindly reached out into the shadows surrounding him, searching for his glasses.
Where the hell was he…?
His fingers stilled at a sharp twinge of pain— he'd cut his finger on a jagged shard of broken glass. His breath quickened, trepidation filling him as he stretched his fingers out farther to grasp the frame of his glasses. Harry warily held his glasses up to the light to survey the damage. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration; one lens was cracked beyond recognition and the other was completely missing from the bent frame. With a heavy sigh he set them aside, mindful of the broken glass.
Watching the way the shadows of the room seemed to move around him, squinting as he slowly scanned the barren walls. Without his glasses he couldn't see a door in the cramped room— all the walls looked the same. His eyes lingered on the sunlight streaming through a small, barred window on the other side of the room. Seeing how there wasn't much light in the room, Harry could only guess that it was still quite early. A fuzzy patch of grass at the base of the window indicated that he was in a basement somewhere.
He struggled to push himself into a sitting position against the nearest wall. He could feel the chill of the stone wall seeping through his thin shirt, causing a shiver to run unpleasantly down his spine. Breathing heavily from the effort, Harry finally became conscious of the weight around his right ankle and peered down at his leg. Harry strained to pull his leg closer, cringing at the scraping sound of metal against the floor. In dismay he pulled at the shackle, a futile attempt to remove the rusty chains. His eyes followed the length of the chain to the bolt securing it to the wall. His eyes narrowed at the revelation that someone actually had the gall to chain him up like some kind of animal. In vain he tried to suppress the sense of panic settling in the pit of his stomach, thoughts racing through his mind as his claustrophobia began to set in. His chest tightened uncomfortably, erratic breathing seemed entirely too loud in his almost frantic state— being forced to live in a cupboard for 10 years could do that to you.
Cradling his head in his trembling hands Harry tried desperately to remember how he'd ended up in the unfamiliar room. Only a Death Eater would pull such a stunt, but Harry refused to even think of the possibilities his current train of thought was bringing him…
The audible click of a lock from the far side for the room cut his thoughts short and his hands hastily dropped to his sides, rhythmic pounding of his heart thundering in his head. He waited for the door to open in silence as his gaze shifted towards the source of the noise. The door swung open soundlessly, shoes clicking loudly on the floor as a figure clad in black strode in confidently, easily blending in with the shadows of the room.
It was a man; that much was obvious. From Harry's spot on the floor he seemed particularly tall. He could tell the man had broad shoulders though he hid it well with his layered robes. If he squinted he could just make out creamy white skin of his chest peeking through the top of his robes. Nevertheless, the loss of his glasses coupled with dark, hooded cloak made it impossible to tell exactly who had just stepped inside the cramped room.
"Finally awake are we, Mr. Potter?" A voice questioned smoothly. The figure kneeled before him and gripped his chin forcefully, tilting his face toward the sunlight which was gradually illuminating the room. "You're even more beautiful in person… Master will be pleased."
Harry mentally cursed his terrible luck; dread instantly filled him at the implications. "And who exactly is your master?"
Of course, he already knew the answer to his question— that's what scared him. It wasn't so much the prospect of being handed over to Voldemort on a silver platter. He knew what he could expect from Voldemort. An unknown Death Eater, however, was another matter in itself.
"The Dark Lord," here he paused, smile adorning his face in mock joy. "But you already knew that didn't you?" Harry gathered what little strength he had to smack the offending hand away, glaring defiantly at the blurry face above him.
His smile only widened in what appeared to be pleasure, "Feisty aren't we? Not to worry, Harry, I love a challenge… we'll have lots of fun before the Dark Lord gets his hands on you." He reached out again to run his fingers through Harry's unruly hair.
Harry's blood ran cold at this unexpected announcement, he didn't dare think of what the statement might mean. "Don't touch me." He tried to calm his erratic breathing, not trusting his voice enough to say anything more.
Despite Harry's protests he continued stroking his hair softly, "You'll get used to it… after all, you'll be here for a very long time." Again he smiled, lightly caressing Harry's cheek. Harry was outraged when the man's lips brushed against his for the briefest of moments, but he was too exhausted to retaliate. "Stupefy." Harry barely caught the whisper, anger ebbing away as he slipped into unconsciousness watching the hazy figure stand to leave the room with half-lidded eyes.
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
Vindicated: Interlude
He walked up the winding staircase with his shoes clicking sharply against the cold stone floor as he made his way through the maze of hallways purely on memory. Slipping through a small passageway hidden behind a tapestry, he found himself standing before a set of vast double doors in the secluded corridor. He made sure to knock to announce his presence before entering the dimly lit room, dropping to his knee in a bow of respect.
"Michael." The figure clad in black acknowledged.
"You summoned me, My Lord?" He quickly rose from his bow with an aura of confidence surrounding him, though his expression was blank. He peeked through his bangs to eye the Dark Lord warily, carefully avoiding looking him directly in the eye. He sat in a chair that closely resembled a throne in the center of the room, dressed in black robes from head toe. His hideous face was shrouded with shadows— something Michael was quite grateful for. Just because he supported his beliefs didn't mean he wanted to look at that repulsive excuse for a man on a daily basis.
"Have your plans to capture the boy been set in motion?" Voldemort hissed, his red eyes almost glowing due to the lack of light.
"Would you expect any less of me?" Michael paused at Voldemort's scathing glare. He was obviously not amused. "Things are going exceptionally well; I'll see to it that you have him before the end of the year."
"I will hold you to that. I don't care what you do with the boy so long as he ends up here."
"Of course, My Lord." Michael bowed once more to hide the small grin adorning his face.
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
Harry stirred in his sleep, trying to shift from his uncomfortable position on the plush bed beneath him. With his wrists aching unpleasantly and mind still foggy with sleep he blinked in confusion at his discomfort. His eyes snapped open with a startled gasp when a hand abruptly began traveling up the length of his leg. Harry struggled to escape his grasp only to realize his arms were bound to the headboard of the bed he was currently lying on.
Under the light filtering through of the small window, Harry could finally see the face of the man holding him captive. With high cheekbones and a slightly upturned nose, some would call him beautiful. His silky straight hair was the color of caramel and delicately framed his amethyst eyes. Instead of black robes, this time he was clad in a skin-tight cashmere sweater and simple black slacks.
"W-What're you doing?"
An undercurrent of fear passed through him, claustrophobia beginning to overload his senses once more. Harry thrashed about, trying to dislodge the hand presently caressing his thigh.
"Don't struggle… it'll only make it worse." He smiled up at Harry— a smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Harry lay motionless against his instincts, knowing that moving would only make a bad situation worse. Trying not to move only served to feed the growing feeling of alarm welling up in his chest, making it considerably harder to breath. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he watched the man pull a knife out of his robes before climbing onto the bed to straddle him. Harry watched with wide eyes as the man began to leisurely cut through the material of his shirt, making certain that the blade nicked Harry's chest more than once just to see him flinch. Harry's breath hitched and he fervently struggled against the bindings around his arms.
He hated to admit he was panicking. He would much rather face Voldemort any day. At least Harry knew what to expect from him.
Without warning, warm lips roughly descended upon his own before a warm tongue forcefully invaded his mouth. Harry did the only thing he could think of at the moment. A harsh bite caused warm, tangy fluid to trickle into his mouth. Once the Death Eater pulled away to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth Harry spit out the metallic liquid, glaring all the while,.
"So that's how you want it?"
Harry didn't have time to respond before the bonds holding his right arm were being untied. Putting his confusion aside for a moment, Harry poured all at his strength into slapping him. A resounding smack echoed throughout the small room. Amethyst eyes darkened with fury for an instant, but the emotion was gone so quickly Harry thought his mind might be playing tricks on him.
"Immotus."
Harry looked up, alarmed, when his arm dropped to his stomach lifelessly— like it was made of lead. Try as he might, Harry couldn't so much as twitch his fingers. Harry watched with apprehension as the man grasped the handle of knife once more, pressing it none too gently against the delicate skin of Harry's inner forearm. His eyes stung fiercely, but he stubbornly refused to shed a single tear… he wouldn't give him the pleasure. Harry felt the blade digging into his flesh in an unorthodox pattern, blood seeping into the once pristine sheets beneath him. Minutes stretched into hours for Harry— each moment more agonizing than the last.
At long last his once unmarred forearm was propped up for him to see the bloody mess it had become.
It read... Michael.
"Now you're mine… and there's nothing you can do about it." He smirked, casting Harry's flaccid arm aside before capturing his lips in a brutal kiss. He moaned into Harry's mouth, one hand tangled in his hair while the other wandered down the length of his body. Harry's eyes slid shut in silent shame, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He'd been branded like some animal… like a fucking possession.
"Incruente." A cold draft hovered over his arm for a few seconds and the blood ceased to flow, leaving goose bumps on the now blood caked skin.
Harry gasped harshly for air the moment he pulled away; after losing so much blood darkness was starting to eat away at the edges of his vision. Harry felt sick when slender fingers brushed against his cheek. He drew in a shaky breath— this couldn't be happening.
"You're so beautiful." The words were murmured against his lips softly before a warm tongue found its way inside his mouth once more.
Uncomfortably hot lips moved to his jaw line and began trailing down his throat before Harry knew what was happening. Another tear slipped from beneath his eyelids as Harry winced when the man bit down hard at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder before something began to trickle down his back.
He couldn't hold on any longer… he didn't want to. Harry gratefully slipped into unconsciousness.
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
When Harry finally awoke he wasn't sure of his surroundings, or even how long he'd been lying there. Over the course of two days the pain from his arm dulled to a distant ache, easily overshadowed by the fierce throb of the more recent welts across his back.
Yesterday already seemed so long ago. Again he'd been reprimanded for daring to touch 'Michael.' This time he'd braved the sting of a whip for his actions until he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Driven to the brink of unconsciousness before Michael whispered, "Incruente." He made quite a show of sneering at Harry, "Wouldn't want you to die on me now would I, Potter?" A few minutes of silence easily lulled Harry into a false sense of security. Just when Harry thought it was over, about to drift into sweet oblivion, he was jerked back by a searing pain from his fresh wounds… salt.
He did his best to ignore the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he stared thoughtlessly at the black ceiling, slowly coming back to himself. It had to be well into the evening already if the room was nearly pitch black. He shifted awkwardly before he hastily sat up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that engulfed him accompanied by the terrible burn of his gashes separating from the sheets, studying the room enveloped in darkness as best he could.
"Lie still."
Harry was startled by the voice that disturbed the tense silence before he recognized it as Michael's. Before he knew what was happening, he was being pushed smoothly back into a laying position. That's when he realized he'd been laying on the slightly familiar plush bed. Harry's eyes traveled the length of the hand which prevented him from moving. For the first time, Michael's arm was bare, and Harry took a moment to examine the dark tattoo which stood out proudly against the alabaster skin of Michael's forearm. Harry could've sworn the snake was hissing at him, daring him to touch the Death Eater's mark.
But perhaps he was just delirious. After all, he wasn't exactly being fed a feast every night, but it certainly wasn't any worse than staying with the Dursleys.
It was hard to ignore the position they were in— Michael was laying flush against Harry's own nude body, straddling him— and soon Harry found himself straining uncomfortably against the weight on top of him, choking back his disgust. Under the weight of the much larger man, he felt as if his ribs would break from the pressure. The wounds on his back only made it worse, not only because of the way they met with the sheets so painfully but also because, while no longer bleeding, the gashes still hurt as though he'd been whipped hours before. His uninjured arm was quickly pinned to the bed so Harry couldn't attack him like before. In his current state, Harry realized, even if his arm was free he was still much too weak to do defend himself. Of course his weakness was most likely Michael's intention in the first place.
"Shh… just relax."
His fingers ran through Harry's hair in what he guessed was supposed to be a soothing manner. From Harry's hair his fingers traveled down the length of his body to caress the slight curve of his hips before resting on his thigh.
Harry flinched away from his touch as if it burned him.
"Please… let me go…" Harry whispered softly, eyes wide with terror as tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of what was to come. Any pride he held before was certainly gone now, drowned in raw agony. "Don't… d-don't do this to me…" Harry pleaded, frantically trying to free his arm from Michael's tight grip. Michael only pressed harder against Harry in response, kissing him roughly. Harry whimpered into the kiss— if that's what you'd call it— despite himself. His back throbbed even more intensely now that he was being pressed so firmly into the mattress. While Michael forcefully explored his mouth, he started shifting in order to position his hips between Harry's.
Harry struggled frantically, doing everything in his power to stop him… but in the end it wasn't enough. Michael was just too strong and Harry was far too weak.
"Let me go!" Harry begged again when Michael finally pulled away long enough for him to speak, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. Staring into Michael's indifferent eyes, his expression told him everything he never wanted to know— everything he couldn't accept. He was telling him without saying a word…
Just let it happen.
Harry choked on a sob before turning his gaze to the lone, fuzzy star visible through the small window, tears blurring his vision.
He wasn't going to stop.
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
Harry's eyes drifted shut, but he knew he wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon.
5 times… how long had he been laying here?
A sharp metallic smell hung about the room, only rivaled by the stench of sex that weighed so heavily on his heart. A fresh wave of tears slid down his cheeks as he clutched the cold, damp sheets spread out beneath him. Harry slowly blinked, only getting a glimpse of the sheets before he clasped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. There was blood… everywhere.
Harry scrambled off the bed as quickly as he could on unsteady legs, trying to ignore the searing pain that invaded his senses as something trickled unpleasantly down his thigh. He swiftly wiped the tear streaks from his face, unknowingly smearing blood across his cheeks at the same time.
He needed to get out.
Noting the abandoned robe resting on the floor, he stumbled to his knees and carelessly rummaged through the inner pockets until his fingers brushed against the wand. Struggling to his feet, his hand began to shake as he pointed it at the prone figure on the bed. "Stupefy." Harry whispered, having lost his voice hours ago.
Surely it couldn't be this easy?
He clumsily dressed himself in the oversized robe— after all, his clothes were in shreds. The warm robe clung to his wounds but he chose to ignore it for the time being. Harry murmured a quick "Reparo," to the bent frame of his glasses, watching as they repaired themselves before slipping them on his face.
He leaned against the wall for support, contemplating the best way to escape. The most obvious route was the door, but what if more Death Eaters were waiting outside? Staring up at the window Harry wondered if he could slip through the small hole. He didn't even know what was outside. He never had much of a chance to look.
Hastily making a decision, he strode to the other side of the room and aimed the wand at the window. He tensely whispered the spell that would set him free, "Diffindo." In an instant the bars outside the window, as well as the fragile glass, were blown back several feet from the force of the spell. Harry swayed dangerously on his feet. He didn't have the energy to do this… he was so weak.
Walking back to the small window once more, he stuffed the wand back inside the inner pocket of the robe before reaching up to grasp the edge of the window sill. The remaining shards of glass dug into his skin, but Harry did his best to ignore the pain. Hauling himself up was the real task— it was difficult to support his own weight on his arms with so little energy. He wriggled through the small window as quickly as he could; he'd obviously miscalculated the size of the window. Once he was outside he scrambled to his feet as quickly as his wounds would allow, trying to ignore the searing pain that shot through his body. He staggered slowly through the darkness, pain flaring with every step.
Needless to say, he never looked back. However, his strength was quickly leaving him. It almost made him wish he was back in the cramped room… lying on the lavish bed beside the window. He was so exhausted that all he wanted to do was give up— consequences be damned. The sun peeked lazily over the horizon; it offered him smallest bit of comfort and he walked steadily towards it.
He knew he couldn't go much farther— but he knew he had to try. He had to go somewhere he knew he could be easily spotted… by someone other than Michael. He unconsciously tugged on the sleeve clinging like a second skin to his open wounds, frowning when his hands came back bloody. For the next several minutes, the only audible sound in the plain before him was his own shallow breathing.
But then he saw something. He couldn't quite make it out even with his glasses, but in the dim light he could tell it was distinctly darker than the lush grass surrounding him. It became his goal, the only thing that pushed him forward as he tried his best to ignore the burning sensation of his arm. It was almost certainly infected by now.
Relief washed over him in soothing waves when he finally got close enough to see what he'd been walking towards for what seemed like forever. A muggle road. Someone was bound to drive by here sooner or later. He settled for falling to his knees beside the pavement, frowning as his the darkness ate away at the corners of his vision; he could only guess it was from the blood loss. Harry fought to remain conscious. He didn't want to pass out and be left defenseless when he could so easily be captured again.
As the minutes slipped through his fingers slowly, his resolve ebbed away and his exhaustion mounted. He swayed precariously on his knees, determined to stay awake until he was positive he was safe. Nevertheless he slipped into unconsciousness, glad to be able to escape reality… even if it was only for a little while.