Chapter Nine: Horrorstruck

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are the Property are J. . This is purely a work of fanfiction, and I do not profit from it in any way, shape, or form... unless you count personal satisfaction.

A/N: ***TRIGGER WARNING!*** This chapter contains non-graphic NON-CON.

If you are worried about being triggered, stop reading after the words, "Then it began." Skip down to the A/N at the bottom.

Harry groaned as he came back to consciousness. He blinked in the dim light, and a sliver of fear ran through him. Last he'd known he was sitting out by the Shrieking Shack; now he appeared to be in some sort of dungeon.

His arm was jerked roughly. "Awake, are ya?"

He whirled around to see MacNair grinning at him. He reached for his wand automatically, only to find it wasn't there. A feeling of dread gripped him, as he realised just how monumentally stupid he'd been to leave the castle during the Death Eater uprising. He lunged forward, desperately trying to attack MacNair the muggle way; but he was yanked around by the chains on his wrists; the chains the man held in his meaty right hand.

He tried to stand, only to be yanked to his knees and dragged in a circle as MacNair spun and pulled him along, laughing uproariously all the while.

"Dance, Potter; dance!" someone jeered.

Cackling laughter rang out, and he glared at the Death Eaters that had congregated around him. There were five of them, including MacNair, and they eyed him in a way that made his skin crawl. He swallowed convulsively.

"The Dark Lord wants him," one of them reminded MacNair. "He said to Enervate the boy and bring him."

There was some scattered murmuring, as though they were displeased to be deprived of their toy so soon, but MacNair yanked him forward.

"Come on, boy," he said, leering at Harry over his shoulder. "Our Lord wants to talk to you."

The other Death Eaters chortled in glee as Harry was dragged along behind them.

Harry couldn't determine much about where he was being held from his surroundings. It was a dungeon; that much he could see, but he couldn't distinguish it from any other dungeon he'd seen.

They walked for about fifteen minutes before they entered a great circular stone chamber, filled with Death Eaters; some masked and some not. Seated on a high-backed chair like a throne at the far end was Voldemort.

Dread coiled inside Harry. His scar didn't hurt; so he felt a sensation of relief that apparently, he was not the Horcrux that had remained to bring Voldemort back. But he sat there, as alive as Harry had ever seen him.

Harry was dragged into the center of the chamber, surrounded by Death Eaters, facing Voldemort. He fought to keep his face impassive as Voldemort rose to his feet, a vicious smile on his lips.

"Harry Potter," he crooned. "The Boy Who Lived... And Lived Again." He threw back his head and laughed. "Did you really think you could defeat me?"

Harry refused to acknowledge the fear that sang within his blood. MacNair yanked him to his knees.

"Kneel before the Dark Lord!" he snarled.

Harry kept his head up, staring defiantly into Voldemort's eyes. I'm not afraid of you.

"Hello, Tom," he said calmly.

Voldemort scowled. "You may think you're fearless and strong," he said. "But in the end, I will break you. I will break you, and when I send you back to the Ministry, you will be my perfect little weapon. I will use you to take over the wizarding world."

He smiled at Harry hungrily. "I can't wait."

Harry kept his head up and his voice level. "You do realise I'm resistant to the Imperious Curse, right?" He forced a smile of his own. "So I'm afraid that your plan is rather flawed. As all your plans are, really, Tom. You'd think you'd have learned that by now – but no. You're not quite that bright."

Voldemort raised his wand furiously and screamed, "Crucio!"

White-hot pain lanced through Harry's veins. He fell to the floor, writhing, and – despite his best efforts – screaming. Agony rippled through him and he lost all awareness of anything except pain.

Then it was over, and he lay there, panting. Reality came trickling back to him, and he gasped in breath, wondering how long he'd been under the Cruciatus. Too long. His muscles twinged and spasmed. His nerves still felt like they were on fire.

"Heal him," Voldemort hissed. "We'll need him in perfect health for this."

A half a dozen spells hit Harry, providing him with some relief. A potion was held to his lips, and he refused to drink it.

Voldemort responded by petrifying him and a secondary spell was used to relax his throat. The potion was poured into his mouth and it slid down his throat against his will. Abruptly, the rest of his aches eased, and it was as though he'd never been tortured in the first place. He glared at Voldemort from where he lay on the floor, still petrified.

"We have a rather talented Potions Master," continued Voldemort. "After the traitor Snape was assigned to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I had required the services of a new Potions Master. I found one overseas who was willing to come here. He's been quite an asset these last few months."

Voldemort smiled wickedly. "He's assisted in altering a few potions that had previously been considered unalterable. Believe me when I say that he's far more of a genius than that traitor ever was."

He waved his hand, and another Death Eater stepped forward; this one masked, and carrying a goblet.

"This particular potion was designed to have a temporary effect; but my Potions Master made it permanent. You'll be taking it every day for a month, after which time you'll be unable to undo the effects without being dosed with the antidote for the same length of time."

His smile broadened. "You won't be taking the antidote until I've decided to release you, and then only so that no one will know what we've done," he declared. "But it will be the key to your undoing." He waved his hand again, and the Death Eater with the goblet walked towards Harry.

Harry watched helplessly as the Death Eater knelt and poured the potion from the goblet into his mouth, casting the spell to relax his throat and force him to swallow. It tasted foul; like sewage.

The Death Eater stepped back, and Voldemort released Harry from the full body bind he was under. He leapt to his feet, furious.

"I'll never help you!" he vowed. "There's nothing you could possibly ever do to make me help you!"

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, and the Death Eaters laughed with him.

Harry stood there, glaring and wishing he knew exactly what their plan was, so he would know how to defeat it.

Then the pain started.

He sank to his knees, screaming. He curled in a ball on the floor, clutching his abdomen as it felt like fire clawed at his insides. He had never known such pain could exist.

He sobbed, and was vaguely aware of being levitated and carried to a room where he was laid on a hard cot, before the heavy wooden door slammed shut, locking him in. But mostly he was just aware of the pain.

Eventually he blacked out.

In the morning, he was Enervated, petrified, and forced to swallow another dose of the potion. The pain flared to life again, if possible worse than before.

He lay shrieking; writhing as the door closed again.

He lost track of the passage of time. It was marked only by the consistent doses of potion they gave him, but the pain was so great he'd lost track of how many of them there'd been.

Gradually, the pain began to lessen. By the time he received his last dose, it barely hurt at all. Just a persistent ache in his abdomen and in between his legs. The next day he was dragged from his cell to face Voldemort again.

He stood in the stone chamber that had changed little from his previous trip there; little except that this time, there were very few Death Eaters scattered about, and there was a large stone table that had been placed in the center of the room.

Voldemort smiled at him victoriously. "Hello, Harry Potter," he said. "Are you ready to be broken?"

"You'll never break me," Harry spat. "Never!"

Voldemort snapped his fingers, and Harry was petrified once again. A different potion was forced down his throat this time; one that tasted bittersweet, like a grapefruit.

Voldemort raised his left arm, pressing on the Mark there, calling his Death Eaters. One by one, they popped into existence.

The room was soon filled with murmuring voices.

"Silence!"

Voldemort held up his hands, and the room fell silent. "Who wants to be the one to break our pretty little Savior?" His voice was mocking, and the crowd tittered.

"My lord, I beg you to give me that honour!" A voice rang out, and Harry froze.

He was petrified, and couldn't move; couldn't check. His heart pounded as he heard footsteps draw nearer.

A head of blond hair appeared in his line of sight. The speaker had his back to Harry, but there was no mistaking him.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "And why should I give that honour to you, when you have ignored all my summons thus far?"

"Because, my lord; I was unable to get away before now to respond to you. It is impossible to Apparate from Hogwarts, and I was under intense scrutiny once rumours of your return had started. If I had responded before now, I would not have been able to return. I would have been identified as a Death Eater and hunted. Forgive me, my lord; but I thought I would be of more use to you as a trusted member of society."

He's here to save you, Harry thought to himself. That idiot is taking a risk for your sake.

Voldemort appeared thoughtful. "You are smarter than you have appeared to be in the past, young Malfoy."

"Thank you, my lord."

"So how is it that you have come to be able to return now, without appearing to rouse suspicion?"

Draco shrugged. "I have pretended to work with the blood traitors and Mudbloods to uncover clues to Potter's disappearance, and your reappearance. They've grown to trust me; enough that if I am missing during a Hogsmeade weekend they will take it at face value when I claim to have been searching for more clues. I can tell you everything that they know – or think they know – thus far, and continue to spy for you in the future."

Careful, Draco. Harry felt a tendril of fear coil around his heart. Too many lies and he'll see right through you.

Voldemort nodded. "That would indeed be useful – if you are telling the truth."

Draco bowed. "I understand, my lord, and I will open my mind for you."

Voldemort nodded again. "Why would you volunteer for the opportunity to break Potter? Why should I give it to you?"

Draco bowed again. "My lord, no one has hated Potter more than I have, except for you. I had a plan in place to use Potter to redeem my family name in the eyes of the public, and once rumours of your return started, I began to plot how I would be able to turn him over to you. Following his disappearance, I was forced to once again alter my plans to simply gathering intelligence for you. As I am taking the biggest risks for you, my lord, I believe I ought to receive the largest reward."

Voldemort appeared intrigued.

Is that how you're going to explain the memories he'll see in your mind? Memories of us?

Voldemort reached forward with his wand, and intoned, "Legilimens!"

Draco flinched, but stayed still. After a few moments, Voldemort pulled back, looking startled. He gave Draco an appraising look, before throwing his head back and laughing.

"Yes, young Malfoy," he chuckled. "I see you have ample experience already in defiling our little hero." He leered at Harry. "How does it feel, knowing that you were fucked and used by a Death Eater?"

Harry glared, unable to respond until the body bind was removed. Voldemort turned away, back to face Draco.

"Draco," intoned Voldemort. "Why don't you tell me the details you've gathered from the little sycophants working to uncover my secrets?"

"Well," Draco said thoughtfully. "They're trying to decide whether you're being impersonated or not, first. Not that I have any doubt who you are, my lord," he added quickly. "But they are struggling to accept that you're alive, because they seem to think that it means Potter will have to die if you are. They never told me exactly what that was about, and wouldn't answer me when I asked. All the Mudblood would say about it was that Dumbledore had sworn them to secrecy, and only Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudblood knew. But apparently it had something to do with how Potter went into the Forbidden Forest at the Battle of Hogwarts, and how he survived the killing curse. Apparently they're worried that they'll need to kill him to defeat you." Draco motioned to Harry with a jerk of his thumb.

Harry felt sick. He's lying. He's mixing truth and lies, to keep from being caught out. He's just buying time until the Aurors get here. He can't know just how precious that information is, or he never would have spilled it.

"I see." Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and suddenly whipped out his wand again. "Legilimens!"

Draco was caught off guard this time, and cried out as he fell to his knees. Harry's heart clenched painfully. He was afraid – not so much for himself; they seemed to have plans for him that meant he'd live a while yet – but for Draco. Stupid, wonderful Draco who'd risked his life and had probably just been found out.

Voldemort ended the spell, and he looked shaken. "It is as you say," he murmured softly. Draco stood on shaky legs.

"I would keep nothing from you, my lord," he said.

Voldemort examined him in silence.

"Very well." An evil smile crossed his serpentine features. "Would you like to hear my plan, young Malfoy? Would you like to know your part in it?"

Draco bowed. "I am most anxious, my lord."

"Potter values love, friendship, and family above all else. So if we are to control him, we must find a method that utilises those weaknesses. A hostage would work best; someone precious to him. Only it would be difficult to get him to work with us rather than against us when everyone would know that someone was missing; someone who needed to be rescued." Voldemort waved an expansive hand. "But if the person we're holding hostage is someone that no one even knows exists..."

"I don't follow, my lord."

"Since you haven't responded to any of my summons before today, you hadn't heard about my new Potions Master. He has altered many unalterable potions; creating permanent effects out of temporary ones, and making the impossible possible. Recently, we fed a modified form of the Feminatis Masculinus Potion to dear little Harry, here."

Voldemort stepped closer, and patted Harry cheek with one scaly hand. Harry glared. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Draco, and the blond looked stricken for a second, before a mask of calm descended over his features. Harry could only be grateful that Voldemort had been looking at him, not Draco when it happened.

Though he wasn't sure exactly what part of Voldemort's speech had triggered it – it seemed to be when Voldemort said the name of the potion, which made Harry all the more frustrated that he couldn't remember where he'd heard of it.

"Then, just before I called you, I had him fed a modified fertility potion. So you see, young Malfoy," Voldemort continued blithely, turning back to face Draco. "Your job will be to impregnate Harry Potter with our very own hostage." He chuckled. "When we release him after the child is born, he will have no choice but to work with us to ensure the child's safety... and he won't even be able to tell anyone; not even of the child's existence – because he will know what will happen to his baby if he does."

Draco bowed again. "I understand, my lord," he murmured. He smiled coldly. "That is a most excellent plan. What are your intentions for after he has been released again, if I may ask?"

Voldemort answered him; something to do with Harry using his influence to further their cause, to get captured Death Eaters released, to prepare the way for the take-over of Voldemort's forces. But Harry was barely able to listen; his mind was stuck on the horrible truth that had been revealed to him.

Voldemort had been turning him into a hermaphrodite. That was the source of the horrible pain in his abdomen and between his legs; the feeling of wrongness. He had carefully schooled himself into avoiding any thought directed to those areas of himself for so long because of the pain that he hadn't even been aware of the change. But he was aware of it now.

Voldemort meant to have him raped. He meant for Harry to get pregnant. He meant for Harry to be raped, impregnated, and then to take his child away from him to force him to work with the Death Eaters.

And Harry knew it would work.

Voldemort and Draco stood discussing his plans for a while, as Harry stood there, his mind a teeming mass of confused thought.

Draco won't do this.

Harry's heart sank, because he realised that unless rescue came soon, Draco would die and some other Death Eater would step up. And then Harry would be raped and impregnated and he would have lost everything. He could feel tears leaking from his petrified eyes.

"That is enough for now, however, young Malfoy," said Voldemort silkily. "I will talk with you more in detail later. For now, I believe it is time you take your reward." He gestured to Harry, and Draco dipped his head.

"Of course, my lord. It will be my pleasure."

He turned to look at Harry then, and the coldness in his eyes made Harry flinch mentally, though he was still petrified.

"Well, well, Potter," he drawled, smirking. "This has been a nasty shock for you, hasn't it? Or should I say... Harry?"

There was some scattered snickering.

Voldemort waved his wand, and with three spells in quick succession had Harry unpetrified, chained to the table with his arms and legs spread wide, and his clothes vanished.

Panic set in then as Draco approached him, unfastening his robes. The cold look never left his eyes.

"Draco," he whispered, as soon as Draco came close enough, looming over him. "Please."

He didn't even know what to ask for; what to think. His head was a mess of confused thoughts and fears and he couldn't seem to stop shaking and crying.

"Please, Draco. Help me."

He didn't know how Draco was supposed to help him. He didn't know what he expected Draco to do. All he knew was that he was more afraid of Draco now than he'd ever been of Voldemort.

Draco lifted Harry's legs, and dipped his head, as if to get his bearings. Harry heard the barest whisper when Draco's mouth descended near him.

"I'm sorry."

"No!" he cried, but Draco didn't seem to hear him. He was touching Harry between his legs, in a place that hadn't existed a month ago. The wrongness of it was so intense that Harry was nearly dizzy with it.

"No," he repeated. "Draco, no."

Then it began.

Somewhere, Harry was aware of Voldemort and his Death Eaters jeering and laughing; taunting him. Somewhere, Harry wondered if he should care more about that than he did.

But his world had narrowed to Draco and himself. There was simply no room for anyone else.

Harry screamed. It hurt; it burned. He turned and twisted, trying to get away, but the chains and Draco's hands held him in place. He begged Draco to stop even as Draco kept moving.

The pain was unlike anything Harry had ever felt before.

Physically, the sensations were foreign and unpleasant, they hurt quite a good deal – though not nearly as bad as Cruciatus.

But emotionally, the horror of being violated in such a way made him a gibbering wreck. The shame of being violated publically even more so. And the thought that this was Draco; his beloved Draco doing this to him... he wondered dimly, in the back of his mind, if this was how it felt to go mad.

There was nothing else Voldemort could have done to break him quite so thoroughly.

Nothing Voldemort could have done himself.

Nothing he could have ordered any of his followers to do.

None except Draco.

Then it was over, though Harry was barely cognizant of this fact.

He was vaguely aware that Draco had moved away, and his chains had been released. He curled into a ball on the table, sobbing, trying to make himself as small as possible.

He barely registered when they hauled him to his feet and dragged him out, back to his cell.

He was barely conscious of crawling onto his cot, where he curled up again and pulled the blanket over himself. He shivered as he cried himself to sleep. Even behind his tightly shut eyelids, he could still see Draco hovering over him, his grey eyes cold as steel.

A/N: I hope this wasn't too traumatic for anyone. I avoided describing the rape in any details other than what Harry was feeling (primarily emotionally) to keep it minimized.

I know some (all) of you hate me right now. This is what I have been planning all along, and I'm really sorry if you guys are upset by it. (Scratch that; I KNOW you're upset. Sorry.)

This is integral to the rest of the story. I wouldn't really have a story without this. (At least, not much of one.) So yes, it is really necessary.

I do intend to give this story a happy ending, but it's going to be dark on its way to getting there. Please bear with me.

Thank you for reading. I love you guys!