disclaimer: I am making no money on this fan fiction, I am only borrowing characters from the Harry Potter books.
Warnings- violence, non-consensual sex, implied child molestation, bdsm, hurt/comfort, quite disturbing in the first few chapters, please be warned (see Note)
HP - DM HP - LV AD - and... everyone? mostly implied
summary- Albus Dumbledore has been molesting Hogwart’s boys for decades. He’s had his eye on Harry Potter since his first year, but resisted the urge due to his assumed will against mind charms. However, Harry‘s seventh year will change that. He’ll find himself in the most terrifying situation imaginable, and a seemingly innocent scar on his forehead will play a major role. A horrid dream will unlock the memories of one Lord Voldemort, and his life will fall into turmoil as he comes to the realisation that he too had been molested when he attended Hogwarts.
Note: This story is NOT for Dumbledore fans, and of course, he and others will be quite OOC at times. I will not write any sort of detail on any character under the age of 16 that involves the nature of sex or molestation, but it may be implied. This story is not for fluff lovers, but there will be fluffy stuff. Harry and Draco are 17 in this story, in their seventh year.
Ron Weasley sat fretfully at his potions desk, looking up at Professor Lupin trying to explain the differences between the poisons in belladonna and puffer fish sacks. His sudden, unexplained appearance in their school baffled him. It seemed Professor Snape had gone missing.
Hermione Granger felt just as restless, but kept it to a minimum by chewing on the end of her quill, pretending to listen to the lecture.
With a forced exhalation from her lungs, she set her quill down on a blank piece of parchment, scribbling out a messy note, and slid it across the desk under Ron’s tapping fingers. He scanned over it, and what he read disturbed him even more.
Went to see Madam Pomfrey today. She had no idea about an outbreak of wizards flu. Harry and Malfoy never went to see her.
Easing his wand from his pocket, he tapped it lightly over the paper, muttering a spell to erase the words. He picked up his own quill and jotted down his own responses, glancing up at Lupin from time to time so he’d refrain from getting caught. Sliding it back over to her casually, he began to feel something slightly attuned to dread balling up in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right.
Hermione placed her arm over the parchment, and read it to herself, using the opportunity when Lupin walked off towards Snape’s private stores for examples.
Harry’s bed wasn’t slept in. His invisibility cloak is missing, too. Zabini told me Draco never came back from being summoned to Dumbledore’s office after dinner.
“Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why, but I’ve got this awful suspicion I can’t shake,” she whispered into Ron’s ear.
Ron nodded back. “We’ll have to look into this. I know it seems silly, I mean... Dumbledore confirmed it, and all. Maybe he’s just trying to protect them and not worry us,”
Hermione sighed, but that niggling feeling fluttering around in her belly refused to relent. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s fine... I just wish I could believe it,”
“I know what you mean. If all is well, why do I feel so buggered about it?” asked Ron, cringing visibly at his girlfriend.
Lord Voldemort sat across the oversized desk, poring over dozens of volumes pertaining to memory charms and their counterspells. Pointing to a page, he smiled up at Lucius. “I’ve used this spell before to unblock a memory, but it made the poor witch go mad. I do believe the combination of it, and the potion will resolve that. It says here there are dozens of successful cases,”
Lucius Malfoy frowned at the letter delivered into his hand by the school. It explained that Draco had been quarantined, and could not possibly be released for another week.
“Are we going to do something about this?” he cried, shoving the note under his lord’s nose.
Reading the letter to himself, he dropped it on the desk with a sigh. “We need inside help. I’ll have to send Snape back. Unless...” he said, freezing in place as various ideas floated around in his head. “How many children are in Hogwarts who’s parents are connected with us, that you trust, Lucius?”
Lucius looked up, counting them over in his head. “A handful. Zabini, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Parkinson I believe,”
Voldemort grinned, thrusting several sheets of parchment in the Death Eater’s direction. “Start writing, then. We need all the information we can get. Sending Snape back should be our last resort. He’s working feverously on that potion, I don’t want him disturbed.”
Draco growled nearly inaudibly down in his throat. “Think, Harry, think,” he whispered.
Harry rubbed his grubby, filth-covered hands over his face in frustration. “I don’t know. Being Parselmouths? Orphans? I’m not sure what else we share besides that,” he cried. “It’s not like anyone ever tells me anything more than I need to know about my own life.”
Draco rapped his fingers over his bare knee, and lightly banged his head back into the cell wall as he pondered over it. With a grunt of sadness, he let his head fall forward. Harry twisted around to face him, and pulled his into a hug. “Shh, it’s okay. We’ll get through this. Come on, Draco, don’t give up, I need your strength right now,” he whispered, soothing him with soft pets over his hair.
“This is bloody madness. Why is this happening?” cried Draco. “I’m trying so hard to stay calm, but if he comes near me one more time with his trousers unzipped, I‘m gonna lose it.”
Harry hissed in his ear. “No you’re not. You’re going to be strong and shove those thoughts away. He said a week, we can survive a week. Just play along, do whatever he says, and it’ll be over,”
“How can you sit there and take this, Harry?” he asked, looking up into the boy’s cold, green eyes.
“Because I sort of prepared for this, I think. I imagined I’d be in this sort of situation soon. I always assumed it would be with Voldemort, though. Silly me...” he replied.
He covered his face with his hands so Draco couldn’t see his pain. He had to be strong for the both of them. He couldn’t show him how much it hurt.
Blaise Zabini bit her bottom lip as she read over the letter from Draco’s father. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sat next to her reading their own. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode entered the common room soon after, sporting their identical letters.
“We should ask Weasley and Granger for help. They’ve got stakes in it, too,” said Blaise. “They’ve been asking a lot of questions about Potter and Draco’s disappearance, and now getting these--” she held up the letter to the group, “confirms all our suspicions.”
“You forget, Blaise. They’re Gryffindors. They’ll tell on us,” sneered Pansy, crossing her arms over her chest.
“They are?” she replied sardonically, rolling her eyes at the blond. A soft sigh escaped her lips, releasing the small bit of tension building up inside of her. She then turned to the others in seriousness. “Anyways, to those who’ll take this seriously, find those two, tell them the password and get them to meet us up here tonight after lights out. If anyone can help us; it’s Granger. We can’t afford not to use her.”
“What do you remember, Harry?” asked Albus calmly.
Harry gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, shaking with adrenaline as the Veritaserum induced truths slipped past his lips. “Everything,”
Draco watched from his cell, noting the Headmaster’s irritated expression with fear in his eyes. The memory charms he kept casting on Harry weren’t working, and he would ask the same question over and over after each curse.
“Obliviate! Now, what do you remember, Harry?”
“I remember everything, you bastard,”
After several more attempts, Albus threw his wand aside, and closed in on the boy. Harry hung lifelessly in his shackles as the old man’s hands ran over his body. His thighs were forced apart, pulled up to straddle over Albus‘ hips; his head lolled back with a defeated moan. Draco turned his head, not bearing to watch any further.
Hearing Harry’s soft whimpers convert to panting screams of agony, Draco hugged himself with his arms. He slid down the bars of his cell door, letting the tears flow freely from his eyes. He couldn’t block out the words they said to each other, but they registered in his state of distress.
“Mmm, so perfectly satisfying as always, my pet. So beautiful...”
“Go to hell...”
“Getting upset, I see. Time to go back to your cell, my boy.”
The sounds of muffled groans, and the clanking of chains emanated out, and soon after Harry was dragged back into the cell. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was gagged again. Albus dropped him on the floor next to Draco. “Do not remove his bonds for an hour. Is that understood, my boy?” he asked, glaring down at the Slytherin.
“Yes, sir,” said Draco.
“Nearly time for dinner. I have to get cleaned up. I’ll see you both tomorrow, as I must get my rest,” said Albus, clanking the cell door closed.
Draco watched him leave the dungeon, and immediately turned to Harry. “An hour...” he repeated. With a deep breath, he reached down and removed the cloth knotted between Harry‘s teeth.
Harry hissed out lividly, and twisted around like a wild animal caught in a trap. “My fucking hands now!” he growled. Nervous fingers wrestled with the thick knot, Harry only made it worse with his jerking about. Finally, the knot came free, and Harry stood himself up, grasping the bars of the cell.
His seething hatred rippled through him, and spilled out into the room; casting a magical moniker that vibrated through every piece of glass in the dungeon, shattering them all with a wailing scream. Draco scurried back, distancing himself away from the unhinged boy. He’d never seen power of this magnitude before from anyone. The scariest part was Harry wasn’t holding a wand, but he was using magic with the strength of many wizards.
“Er.. break the bars, or something! Harry, break the lock, concentrate on the lock,” he cried, cracking the intense concentration of the boy suddenly. Harry became dazed with light-headedness, and wilted to the floor.
“Oh, Merlin...” Draco looked around the dungeon, fumbling out with his hands to help Harry sit up. The place was nearly destroyed. Glass was everywhere, metal chain links laid on the floor, bent and separated from each other. Unfortunately, the cell door was still intact. But now he understood.
“I didn’t mean to. We’re going to be in so much trouble. I’m so sorry,” cried Harry, having glanced out into the dungeon to see his handiwork. “You’d better tie me back up in case he-”
“Don‘t you see - That’s why!” shouted Draco excitedly. “Your wild magic is too powerful.” He leap up, and pulled Harry up with him. Pointing across the room, he showed him the broken chains scattered across the floor. “You can break metal. You could probably kill him if you tried. He must know you have this strength.”
Harry nodded absently, still quite worried about the havoc he created.
Draco snapped his head around with a tight grip on his chin. “Look at me, damnit. Don’t lose it now, Potter. We’re already in trouble, and we don’t have time to worry about this mess. We have to figure out how to use that magic to our advantage. I can‘t do that. I can‘t use magic that way. It has to be you!”
“Okay, we’re here. What’s up?” asked Hermione, standing firmly next to Ron, looking down at the six Slytherins sitting around them.
Pansy gestured them to sit, and cleared her throat. “This is between the eight of us, and nothing that’s said here leaves this room. We’re willing to forgive you for being Gryffindors from this point on, if you’ll work with us on finding out what happened to Draco.”
Hermione scoffed, Ron snorted, and both stood up from their seats. “And what about Harry?” said Hermione. “Malfoy can rot for all I care. And if I find out he’s the reason Harry‘s ill-”
“Wait!” shouted Blaise, standing up, waving her hands about. “You shouldn’t have said that, Pansy. I warned you, if you can’t handle this, get the fuck out of the room,” Pansy sat back, scowling. “We think it‘s a lot more than being ill, Hermione. Perhaps you should read this.” She held out the letter from Lucius, and Hermione took it, sharing it with Ron as they read it over.
Please send back any information you can obtain on the disappearance of my son. I was informed he fell ill with a wizards flu, but I have strong reason to believe otherwise. His life may be at stake, and any knowledge you can provide me with may just save his life. I believe there may be a connection to Harry Potter, as I’ve heard they are both supposedly quarantined with illness. Ask around, and send back anything you’ve found out immediately.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron, “This is a lot more serious than we thought.”
“Do you know what his reasons are?” asked Hermione, but all the Slytherins shook their heads. “Do you know why Snape is gone?” Again, they all shook their heads.
Hermione sighed and sat back down in her chair. “You need to write him back. Ask him for more information. Tell him the medi witch hadn’t heard of the two getting the flu, and they both went missing on the same night. Some of Harry’s things are missing, as well.” she said, and Blaise nodded, writing her words down in a notebook.
Argus walked into the dungeon after his uninspiring morning patrol of the school, eager to cause more suffering. Looking around at the utter disaster, he roared into a rage and lurched toward the cell. “Which one of ya done this?” he demanded, shaking a wretched fist out at the two between the bars. Harry didn’t bother to look up, only shrank himself further into Draco’s lap as they huddled for warmth.
“It was me,” said Draco, holding Harry’s head into his chest, pressing his long fingers over his lips to keep him quiet. Harry resisted, but Draco hushed him with a quiet breath in his ear.
“Ya best keep quiet whilst I get an elf ta clean this up, or I’ll kill it, then the both of yas,” he sneered.
Summoning a house elf with a strangled shout, Argus pulled a thick drape across the front of the cell to shield the boys from it’s view.
“Clean this mess up before the Headmaster sees it, or you’ll be out on yer ear!” he shouted.
“Why did you do that?” whispered Harry.
Draco looked down at the boy sitting in his lap. He looked bad. It was only the start of day three, and he had been beaten several times, healed only once, then beaten again; mostly by Argus. He wouldn’t last three more days at this pace. They hadn’t been given much to eat or drink, and the dungeons temperature was dangerously low. As much as he hated to say it, he didn’t want Harry to die. He was acting the brave hero part out for both of them and Draco was grateful, but in doing so, he was taking the brunt of everything.
“Don’t worry about it. Here, pull your legs up,” he said. He rubbed his hands briskly over Harry’s weak calves, feeling him shaking to hold them up. He was so weak already, maybe he wouldn’t last three days. He massaged warmth into Harry’s toes, and the smaller boy sighed contently as he balled himself up closer into Draco. His breathing grew into heavy panting while he used the last of his strength to pull his knees up into his chest.
“Damn...” he murmured, overly frustrated with himself at his lack of vigour.
Shooing the elf away, Argus ripped back the drape and opened the cell. “Come on, Potter,” he summoned, holding out a skeletal hand in his direction.
Draco paled and wrapped his arms around Harry much tighter, shielding him away from the old caretaker. “I told you I did it. Why are you taking him?” he cried.
Argus laughed callously. “Get ‘im up, boy. He‘s got a beatin‘ comin‘ to ‘im!”
Looking down at Harry’s wrists, Draco felt a tear roll down his cheek. Choking back a painful sob, he swallowed it down and pulled himself together at the sight. They were so torn, bloodied, and scabbed, so thin to begin with. He didn’t think they could even support his weight much longer. It vaguely occurred to him then, that he, himself, had only been beaten once since they’d been brought down there. It seemed his only punishment now was being forced to do terrible things to Harry.
Harry pushed himself up. “It’s okay,” he said. He took Argus’ hand, forcing himself to look strong, to stand tall as he walked out with the old man.
Severus Snape sat down at the desk casually, dropping several sheets of notes he had taken down with his findings. He smiled very briefly at Voldemort, but sneered as Lucius looked up at him.
“So, is it done?” said Voldemort. He peered back into the book he was reading and dog-eared a page before setting it aside.
“Yes, actually. I should test it first on someone other than yourself, just in case... But unblocking the memory with the potion, and using the correct spell shouldn’t be very difficult. There are a few cases where it has caused unnatural occurrences, so testing first should yield any side effects,” said Snape.
“Headmaster, can I speak with you?” said Hermione, stopping the elderly wizard from exiting the Great Hall.
Albus smiled back down at her. “Of course. What can I help you with, child?”
“How is Harry doing? Will we get to see him soon? I’ve been reading up on the Wizards Flu, and it said that contamination only lasts three to five days in it’s worst state,” she noted, and those twinkling blue eyes looking back at her suddenly lost their flicker.
Clearing his throat, Albus mocked sadness as he leaned into the girl’s ear. “Mr. Malfoy is on his way to recovery. I’m afraid Harry’s doing much worse then expected, though. We’re all pulling for him, and he is getting the best care he can. I’m really very worried about him,” He stood back up and walked away, hands clasped behind his back.
Ron walked up to her side as the old man walked away.
“He lied to me...” she murmured quietly. “I could see it. He’s hiding something,”
“Lied about what?“ asked Ron, stifling a whimper when she relayed what Dumbledore had said to her.
“Oh gods, he’s going to die?”
Hermione kicked the floor in frustration. “I wish I knew what Lucius Malfoy knows. Damn him for being a Death Eater,” She stood silent for several minutes, and stared off as she pondered her options in her head. “He knows a lot more than we do, but - we’re in here, he’s out there... Sod it!” she screeched, grabbing a parchment and a quill from her book bag.
Albus walked into the dungeon quietly, seeing Harry and Draco in his favourite place to find them. “Ah, excellent.” he exclaimed, dropping his heavy robe to the floor. “Don’t stop on my account, Mr. Malfoy, you both look so delicious just the way you are,”
Despite the lust potion he was forced to drink, Draco was having great difficulty in his current torture over Harry. Having to watch his face while he raped him was subsequently gruelling. Eyes on each other, at all times. Anything remotely longer than a blink would reap another crack of the whip in Argus’s hands.
Harry just stared blankly up at the ceiling, laying motionless on his back, letting his arms fall off the sides of the stone slab he was perched on. The only indication he gave of still being alive was the shakiness in his legs resting over the crook of Draco’s elbows.
“I can’t do this!” shouted Draco. “I hate you! I hate you both. When my father kills you, I’ll stomp on your corpses!”
Robust laughter filled the room, and Draco cried out in vehemence.
Harry blinked back into reality, and lifted a trembling hand up, grazing his fingers across Draco’s chest. Looking down at him in confusion, his wild eyes calmed somewhat as the brave Gryffindor muted him with inaudible whispers of encouragement.
Collapsing on top of him in exhaustion, Draco began sobbing again, humiliated beyond thought. “It’s okay. You had to. Calm down, Draco, please,” whispered Harry, brushing his lips against the blonde’s earlobe.
Throwing Draco a robe, Albus instructed him to put it on and return to his cell.
Draco looked down at the battered form laying lifeless, once more aggrieving him. “What about Harry? He’s sick, he needs to rest,”
Albus grasped his upper arm, pulling him away from the boy. “Harry isn’t finished yet, my boy. Now do as I say. I wouldn’t want to inflict more damage to my pretty little plaything because you won’t listen to simple instructions,” His mocking calm and warm smile caused Draco’s stomach to lurch.
With a whimper, he did as he was told, frightened his resistance would get Harry killed. He desperately wanted to keep him alive now, for more than support. Over the last four days, they bonded together; he could admit that now. The fear of Harry being harmed wasn’t that of self preservation... he cared about him. They supported each other in their weakness, and nursed one another back from mental death. There was no modesty in the dungeon, they had nothing to be ashamed of any longer. They would get through this mutually.
With his back to them, Draco wrapped the robe around him tightly and pulled his knees into his chest. He listened to the sounds of the dungeon. Sounds he couldn’t block out. Sounds that drove him slowly mad. Harry spitting in Albus’ face as the old man lowered himself over him. Argus roaring out, striking him several times for it. The low, wailing sobs from the depths of Harry’s soul echoing off the walls. The headmaster’s moans. The flesh tearing.
Half an hour later, Harry was dropped deliberately on the stone floor in the cell. Unable to brace himself, he fell brutally on his shoulder, dislocating it for the second time that day. Draco lunged forward to pull him up, only to feel himself be shoved back into the wall.
Argus yanked Draco from the cell forcefully and he realised. Looking around, Dumbledore had left. “Drink it,” threatened Argus, shoving a glass of water into the boy’s hands.
“What about Harry?”
Argus shook his head. “Can’t. He’ll get somethin’ tomorra,”
Taking several large gulps, he held the last one in his mouth. Argus jerked his head back to the cell, and Draco jogged, fighting with himself not to swallow it. He kneeled over Harry and tipped his head back. He parted his lips with his fingers and spit the water into his mouth. “Swallow it,” he whispered.
“I have a feeling I’m not supposed to survive this week,” choked Harry, snorting back a maddened chuckle. He rolled over to his side to relieve the pressure from his back, only to yelp as he applied pressure to his shoulder. He hadn’t been healed in over two days, and sighed sorrowfully, feeling the robe draped over him. It was large enough to cover them both. Harry tugged Draco down to his side, and wrapped the other end of it over his shoulders.
“Nighty-night, you two.” said Argus, waving at the boys as he left the room.
Draco lay quietly. Harry was so weak now, they didn’t bother trying to tame his wandless magic any longer. All the wounds... the steady trickle of blood running from his lips and nose... It was clear that Harry was right -- He wasn’t going to survive the week.