Archive of Our Own

Warnings: non-con, blackmail, violence, mindfuck, general darkficness

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"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."

At the time, with a minor concussion and Lucius Malfoy pinning him to the wall while Harry was still reeling from having signed away his freedom, Malfoy's words had made no sense.

Nothing made much sense, not after the devastating realisation that he had fallen prisoner to Death Eaters after having won the war.

Although, in retrospect, Harry had to admit that it had been his own fault. He and Ron had been careless, too certain that, after Voldemort's fall, the Death Eaters still at liberty would go into hiding, or flee the country. There weren't that many left. Nott had been captured a week after the Battle of Hogwarts; Avery had given himself up a few days after that. Of those still at large, the Lestrange brothers loomed large on the wanted lists, along with Fenrir Greyback, who had vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind no more than a cracked crystal ball and a pool of blood.

Along with them, the Malfoys had disappeared in the chaotic aftermath of battle, before anyone could give a thought as to whether they should be locked up or not. As far as Harry was concerned, he'd have been perfectly satisfied never to lay eyes on any of their ice-blond heads again, well, apart from the part where he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt.

For months after the Battle, there had been no sign of the fugitives, and despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's strategy briefings, nobody in the Auror Division had believed they might resurface. The Department was under-staffed and over-worked as it was. The magical community was tired of war, and few showed desire to join the Aurors. Ron and Harry as green trainees shouldn't have been out together in the first place, not according to regulations. But even Kingsley tended to overlook the rules when it came to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They had fought and won the Battle of Hogwarts - they were supposed to be able to look after themselves.

It had been the end of a tiring day, punctuated by bouts of long-distance Apparition: a morning spent patrolling the outskirts of Knockturn Alley, interviewing punters in dingy wizarding pubs about rumours of a new Society of the Knights of Walpurgis. An old dear in Llanbadarn, reporting a Death Eater in an adjacent house that turned out to be a black cloak hanging forgotten in a neighbour's window. A family feud in Swindon, with warring parties that needed reminding that, unlike under Scrimgeour's regime, finger-pointing and Death Eater allegations were not enough to see a neighbour carted off to Azkaban.

And then, when dusk came, an area in Muggle Manchester that looked run-down even compared to Knockturn Alley. 'Uncanny goings-on' in a derelict building, reported by a wizard who'd heard it from a squib cousin, who'd heard it from some Muggle youths in the area. Granted, Harry muttered to Ron as they picked their way through broken bottles, dog shite and litter, the way some of the local youths looked, he'd pity the poor Dark wizard who tried to mess with any of them.

The interior of the house was dark, dusty and cobwebbed, the narrow staircase to the upper floor collapsed in a heap of rotting wood. Ron preceded Harry through the hall, winding past a bulky cupboard that all but closed off the corridor. In the radius of his Lumos, his hair was gleaming red. Then it fired up for real when a rush of orange-black sparks shot towards him from one of the gaping doors. Harry heard him scream. A horrible sizzling filled his ears, like fresh meat being thrown into hot oil. He aimed a shielding spell when something barrelled into him from behind with the force of a freight train. Harry was thrown forward, off balance. The cupboard loomed before him, solid oak where the staircase was not, and then his head smacked into it with a dull crack. It was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.

Blindly, Harry moved his head, prepared for a burst of bile-rising pain. The ache that greeted him was dull, the skin at his temple taut and sore right up to his eyelid. It hurt, yes, but considering he'd been trying to drill a hole through his skull by means of an oak cupboard, he could have felt worse.

"So good to see you again, Potter - pity you left behind your tasty Mudblood girlfriend."

Fuck! He knew that voice! Harry scrambled to his knees, then found himself pulled up and his wrists captured behind his back. He forced his eyes open, and there they were - the fugitive Death Eaters. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Fenrir Greyback at his back. Their black-robed selves looked strangely out of place in an old-fashioned Muggle lounge, all worn carpets, 1940s oak furniture and faded floral wallpaper. They had definitely left behind the derelict ruin in Manchester.

The Lestranges had their wands out, and everybody was staring at him. Harry's eyes darted around, frantically searching for Ron. There he was, crumbled in a heap on the carpet, but, thankfully, he seemed to be breathing.

Rabastan Lestrange followed his gaze, an eerie smile twisting his lips.

"Potter. There is no one I'd rather have seen stumbling into our little trap. You have a lot to pay for, boy."

He took a step towards Ron's body, rolling him onto his back with the toe of his boot. Ron's scarlet robes were badly charred on the shoulder, his neck red as if broiled. When he opened his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace. Harry watched Ron's expression change from confusion to dread to a touch of relief when his gaze met Harry's.

Rodolphus's wand had turned on Ron as soon as he'd started to move, while Rabastan's remained aimed at Harry despite Greyback's death grip on his wrists.

"But first..." The younger Lestrange nodded towards Ron, "this. What was it our Lord said in that graveyard? Kill the spare?"

"No!" Harry screamed, struggling against the hands that held him as Ron's eyes darkened in fear. "Please, don't! I'll do whatever you want-"

"You will revive the Dark Lord?"

Biting his tongue, Harry pushed the memory of the Resurrection Stone far to the back of his mind. There were some things he would not do to survive, not even for Ron. He'd returned Voldemort to life once - he would not do it again.

"Everything I'm capable of," he said.

"We've seen what you're capable of." Rodolphus's voice was gravelly, rough as if he didn't use it very often any more. "Now, all we want to see you do is suffer. The blood traitor's mother killed my wife - he belongs to me."

"Though the idea of Potter doing 'whatever we want' has its appeal," Rabastan threw in, his parody of Harry's voice painfully accurate. Malfoy's aristocratic nose crinkled, and there was a short bark of laughter from Greyback that made Harry's skin crawl. "I think we've earned a bit of recreation. What do you say - Rodolphus? Lucius?"

The elder Lestrange cocked his head, eyes still fixed on Ron with an awful expression of hunger. He nodded, slowly, reluctantly, while Malfoy's frown deepened.

"I have no intention of soiling myself with a half-blood," Malfoy drawled. Unlike the others, he had still not drawn a wand, but was casually leaning on his cane.

"I wonder why," Rabastan murmured with an eyebrow raised. "You weren't adverse to a bit of sport... before." There was an undertone to the man's words that jarred in Harry's ears. Bellatrix had always been the eloquent one among the Lestranges. Strange how after her death, command seemed to have fallen to the most quiet of her little gang.

Fear curled in Harry's stomach as Rabastan came up to him, laying a cool palm on his cheek. Harry looked up, meeting eyes not quite as black and hooded as Rodolphus's, but a dark grey that held an unsettling glimmer.

"I'm not offering life, to either of you." The Death Eater's tone was almost kind; his words were not. "Merely a reprieve. As long as you amuse us, Potter, your friend will live. When you stop being entertaining, you will both die." The gleam in Rabastan's eyes bloomed into a grin. "If you're very good, Potter, I might kill him quickly when the time comes - or maybe not."

"Harry, don't let them-" Ron cried out, then stared up at Harry with blood running from the corner of his mouth when Rodolphus casually kicked him in the face.

Harry threw Ron a hard look. Survival was the key, drummed into them during endless sessions of Auror training. As long as you lived, chances might present themselves. If you died, it was over.

"Whatever you want," he repeated, meeting Lestrange's eyes straight on.

"Ah, Potter, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to making you regret those words." Rabastan petted his cheek, then whirled round and aimed his wand at Ron.

Ron tensed, his face white and frantic, and Harry yelled, "No!" without any hope of stopping the Death Eater's spell.

It hit, and something… wriggled away from the centre of Ron's chest; like a strand of smoke, but coloured in a vibrant blue-green, much like a Pensieve memory after a stint in a paint bucket. It lengthened, curled, then detached itself from Ron and floated to the tip of Lestrange's wand where it solidified further.

"What did you do?" Harry yelled, scanning Ron's face for signs of pain.

"And you claim the name of wizard?" Rabastan snorted, plucking the ribbon off his wand. "Tell him, blood traitor."

"It's a life thread." Ron sounded scared, subdued, although Harry suspected that he was more afraid for Harry than for himself. "They use it to tell whether somebody's all right - alive. Like our family clock, remember?"

Yes, Harry remembered all right - remembered the golden hand engraved with 'Fred' blackened and withered, and how Ron and Charlie had quickly taken it down before Mrs Weasley could see.

Unexpectedly, Greyback let go of him. Harry swayed when his Auror's robe was torn from his upper body. Greyback hurled the heavy fabric into a corner, and a quick "Evanesco!" from Lestrange's wand vanished Harry's shirt as well. Rodolphus's wand remained trained at Ron's head, so Harry stood stock-still even as his whole body erupted in gooseflesh.

With a smirk that proved he knew exactly how terrified Harry was, Rabastan looped the ribbon around Harry's neck. The two ends fused in a seamless ring, lightly brushing his skin like the softest of silk, emanating a faint… presence of Ron, like Harry sometimes felt when Ron stood close to him, or entered a room and Harry knew it was him without having to look up.

"A token of good faith so you remember what you're bargaining for," the Death Eater stated. "And we have just the place to keep our bargaining chip safe, haven't we?" He looked from Rodolphus to Greyback.

"I took Potter down," Greyback growled. "He's mine first."

"Greedy," Rabastan chided, then laughed. "Very well. I'm sure it will be an instructive experience for him."

The werewolf grabbed Harry's shoulder to shove him towards the half-open door to the corridor. Behind him, a scuffle broke out and Harry dug his heels in, craning his neck. Ron, the stupid sod, had started to struggle as soon as Rodolphus moved his wand away, but he was too weak. The Lestranges were wrestling him into submission without effort. Greyback let go of Harry's arm and turned to watch.

Left to himself, Harry clung to the doorway, praying they wouldn't hurt Ron, or void their bargain. And then Lucius Malfoy, silent almost throughout, walked over to him, backing him into the wall until the fine, silver-stitched sleeves of his robe brushed Harry's chest. His voice, when he spoke, was so soft it was almost a whisper.

"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."

At the time, it had made no sense.

Now, after Lucius had stepped back and allowed Greyback to march Harry down the flower-printed hallway and through an adjacent door, it did.

Draco Malfoy lay on the filthy bed that was the only piece of furniture in the entire room, naked except for a black-studded collar fastened around his throat. It looked terribly bulky against Malfoy's delicate skin.

"In, pup!" Fenrir Greyback's growl was followed by a push that sent Harry flying into the middle of the room and onto his knees. His vision wavered as his looming concussion roiled up again.

Malfoy's eyes widened from thin grey slits to near-black when he saw Harry. Of course he'd been shocked to see Harry before on various occasions, but he'd never looked this horrified, not even in sixth year in the prefects' bathroom. A pink tinge coloured his cheeks for a moment, before they drained completely. Malfoy's head fell back onto the pillow. His eyes closed.

Harry struggled back onto his shaky feet before Greyback could grab him. He felt the werewolf's hot breath on his neck a second before the claw-tipped fingers met over his chest and clasped him to the man's strong body.

"I don't blame you for admiring my pet, Potter. Such a tasty, tender little thing?"

Harry's shoulders shrank in the rough embrace. He could smell Greyback behind him, sharp and acerbic, could feel the thick knot of scars that marred the skin of his chest. Greyback wore only fraying trousers, Muggle jeans of all things; no shirt, no shoes, as if he'd shed wizardly decorum right after Voldemort's death.

But then the entire crew of Death Eaters had looked… frayed. Though imposing in ornamented robes and cane, Lucius Malfoy's face had seemed haunted. The elder Lestrange had worn ragged robes that might have seen the Battle of Hogwarts, while the younger looked at the world through a curtain of too-long hair with the air of a ferret that had lost its burrow. Greyback himself was sporting a thick, welted scar at his temple where Trelawney's crystal ball had failed to kill him.

And now here was Draco Malfoy, naked on a dirty bed with his collar and his too-pale skin mottled with bruises and scratches. He'd looked worn during sixth year, and at the manor when Harry had been captured the first time. Since then, he must have lost another ten pounds he didn't have to spare in the first place. Harry swallowed hard, fear liquid in his veins.

Fenrir chuckled, rubbing his bristly chin along Harry's neck. He could probably smell his fear. Harry stumbled against the side of the bed. Fenrir followed, wrapping his arms around Harry in a crushing squeeze.

"We'll have our time, Potter, you and me," he hissed against Harry's jugular. The points of his teeth dug into the vulnerable skin there. "But let me show you what's going to happen to you first."

He gave Harry another push that almost landed him on top of Draco. "Up on the bed," the werewolf growled. "Roll up behind the pet, Potter."

Gingerly, Harry crawled onto the mattress, trying to ignore the stains on the fabric. The bed reeked of old sweat and sex and it nearly turned Harry's stomach. Not so much the smell, but the knowledge of what had happened here. He was only too aware of the way Draco leaned away from him. He wasn't the only one. Greyback delivered a resounding slap to Malfoy's thigh, and Draco froze. A hand-shaped mark bloomed on his pale skin.

"None of that, pet," Fenrir snarled. "You be nice to Potter - you'll spend a lot of time together before we get bored with him and he dies."

Through his own dread, Harry could feel Draco forcing himself to unfreeze against him. His skin was sticky with old sweat, his back cold where it pressed against Harry's warm chest. He didn't relax in the slightest. Fenrir's smell was strong on him, and the werewolf laughed when he saw Harry crinkle his nose.

"You won't be so proper in a bit, pup."

He stood beside the bed, thumbing open his trouser buttons. He wore nothing underneath, and when the cloth was shoved down, a tall, ruddy erection bobbed up to his belly. Draco's shoulder blades tensed as if they had been transfigured to metal.

One way or the other over the years, Harry had always secretly wanted to see Malfoy get his comeuppance; he'd never been more ashamed of that impulse than he was now.

Fenrir roughed Draco's legs apart, one hand closing around the limp package of his prick and balls. Draco whimpered as rough finger pads caressed his most vulnerable parts. The claws could slice them to ribbons if Greyback chose to. Harry could almost taste Malfoy's terror. Reflexively, he put his hands on the boy's shoulders to share what little comfort he could offer.

"Yes, Potter, console the pet if you think it'll help," Greyback commented derisively, pushing Malfoy's splayed legs back until his knees almost touched his ears. It put Malfoy's weight heavily on Harry, enough for him to feel the bumps of Malfoy's spine digging into his chest. Greyback grinned toothily at Harry through the gap.

"Hold him open for me, pup," he breathed, shoving Malfoy's calves into Harry's hands.

Hot fury ran through Harry as his fingers closed around the shivery skin of Malfoy's legs, trying not to look down at the young man's quivering chest. He hated the fact that Greyback made him into an accessory to violation. It was the memory of Ron's scared face and the blood coating his mouth that made Harry tighten his fingers. He'd committed himself - there was no going back. He felt gut-wrenchingly sorry for Malfoy, but the price for standing up for him would be Ron's life.

Malfoy bucked when the werewolf moved his hand behind him in a way that told Harry only too vividly what Greyback was doing. Then Greyback pushed even closer, kneeling right behind Malfoy's upturned arse and even though Malfoy obscured the werewolf's lower body, Harry saw Malfoy's eyes go wide. Long fingers knotted in the bedclothes as his mouth thinned, then twisted in pain.

Greyback smiled, a wild, knowing grin between the boy's spread legs, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you want mercy, pet, you know how to beg for it."

For a reeling second, Harry thought it was him being addressed and grasped for words like a kitten pawing after butterflies. Then Malfoy expelled his breath in a huff, calves taut under Harry's fingers, his back going even more rigid. His eyes were screwed shut as tightly as his lips, which had started to go grey with fear.

No, not fear, Harry realised. Pride.

Meeting Greyback's mocking eyes directly, Harry said, "Don't let him play you, Malfoy. It's not worth it."

The red-rimmed eyes opened into slits, helpless anger spilling out. Then Draco looked away, staring up at the ceiling as if to distance himself from everything - the smell of rut, the sweat, the fear, his own strained tangle of limbs, Harry's and Greyback's presence. His lips moved twice before his vocal cords caught up with them.

"Please don't take me dry, Fenrir."

"No, you did not like that at all, did you, pet?" The werewolf chuckled. "But since you're such a good pet, so obedient to your betters…" He ran his large hand up the inside of Malfoy's leg, its weather-beaten tan and pelt of grey hair in sharp contrast to Malfoy's pale, hairless skin. A flick of heat appeared on the young man's face when Greyback dipped down to play with his balls.

"Shall I be generous with the little plaything, Potter?" Greyback's malicious eyes caught Harry's over Malfoy's head. He did something with his hand that had Malfoy jerk and hiss between clenched teeth.

"Yes," Harry said softly. Had Lucius truly believed he needed to bully Harry into behaving decently?

Slowly, the werewolf slid his hand away from Malfoy's groin, and brought it up to Harry's face. The rough pads of his fingertips tapped against Harry's bottom lip. They smelled of Malfoy, sharp and desperate.

With a sinking heart, Harry closed his mouth around them, tongue sliding around the bitter taste.

'If they have the upper hand, keep your head down, stay calm, and play along until you see an opportunity to strike,' had been Kingsley Shacklebolt's credo on what to do when captured by Dark wizards. Now, there would be no opportunity to strike, but Harry would play along nonetheless.

He didn't manage to avoid nicking his tongue as he sucked around Greyback's nail, and forced the thought of infection and what had happened to Bill to the back of his mind. He would see worse than a nick if Malfoy's condition was anything to go by.

Greyback's fingers glistened when the werewolf pulled them free. "Such a hero, isn't he, pet?" he mocked, then thrust his wet fingers into Malfoy in a way that forced a strangled little cry from Malfoy's lips. "But you're right, Potter - the pet is a fragile little thing, and Lucius might be forced to show outrage after all if it got torn up beyond repair. We can't have that. You, on the other hand, Potter…" The sharp eyes travelled over Harry's bare chest, then back to his face. "You're the tough one, aren't you? You think you can handle everything, even the Dark Lord. You won't need mollycoddling, will you?"

"I'm not one of your children, Greyback," Harry said, lips very cold.

"That's all right, Potter. I'll break the man just as easily."

Greyback leaned forward as if he had no bones at all and picked up a jar with a sharp-smelling ointment from under the bed. He swiped his fingers through it and shoved them back into Malfoy in the same motion.

Harry trembled nearly as much as Malfoy, trying not to notice the tears that welled up behind Malfoy's closed eyelids. He felt utterly helpless, part of him thinking it would be easier to bear if Greyback abused him rather than made him into a reluctant accomplice in Draco's torture, but that was his noble half. The other gibbered in witless terror at the thought that the same thing could happen to him.

Before today, he'd only ever been distantly aware that men could be interested in other men in a sexual way, even though, if pressed, he'd have to admit that at one point during his schooldays, he'd avidly watched out for Cedric Diggory's lithe body and easy smile, and that sneaking after Malfoy in sixth year, a predator on the prowl for a glimpse of pale hair and faux-haughty posture, had kindled warmth in the pit of his stomach. But this, he thought darkly as he watched Greyback pull his fingers from Malfoy's arse and shuffle closer after wiping off excess grease over his cock in a self-indulgent slide - this wasn't about desire. Just about revenge.

Malfoy jerked when the werewolf pushed into him, despite the grease. His neck muscles knotted into an intricate shape, like lattice below skin. Harry wanted to graze them with his lips, just to provide a little touch of comfort when he could do nothing else, but Malfoy would take it the wrong way, and Greyback would jeer, so he did nothing. The fleshy slaps of Greyback's fucking hurt Harry's ears, but not as much as they hurt Malfoy - his eyes were spilling over, and high, pained sobs escaped his mouth. The thrusts rocked him against Harry's chest, bruised flesh rippling all over with goose pimples and turning blue where Harry's fingers were clamped around his calves.

Harry looked away, only to have his chin grabbed and his head wrenched up. Greyback leaned into him, buried to the hilt in Malfoy's arse and almost squashing the younger man with his weight. He pulled Harry's jaw to him and crushed bared teeth against Harry's mouth, biting at his lower lip until Harry tasted blood while Draco gasped for air underneath them. Then Greyback drew away with a red-tinged grin, hands returning to Draco's hips for another vigorous thrust. Harry didn't dare to let his eyes slip again.

It didn't take many more thrusts before Greyback closed his eyes into slits of satisfaction, a grimace that displayed prominent canines twisting his face. Every second was one too many for Harry, though, who had to watch Malfoy's face peering out from between his splayed legs, scrunched up and wet with tears and snot. He was painfully aware of the presence of Malfoy's genitals, shrivelled into a frightened nest between his upturned legs, and couldn't deafen his ears against his cries and whimpers. Pity fluttered in his stomach, but at the same time he was aware of his own cock, warm in the confines of his trousers and pressed into the small of Malfoy's back.

When Greyback came his shout was low but feral, nails gauging Malfoy's tender flesh. He pumped his hips forward once, twice to savour the full experience, then pulled out so fast that Malfoy cried out again.

Harry let go of Malfoy's calves just in time before Greyback laughed out loud, a sound of pure exuberance. He pushed Malfoy into Harry's arms before giving his spent cock another luxurious rub.

Malfoy shrieked as his cramped legs moved, and curled into a miserable half-ball on the sheets, legs still bent and trying to take his weight off his arse. Harry saw a red-flecked streak of come run down his thigh, and swallowed to keep his stomach contents down. He shifted Draco against his chest into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure he wanted to touch Malfoy at all, but he badly wanted to offer comfort, and if he recoiled from him now, Malfoy might read it as disgust.

Greyback had risen off the bed and to his feet, watching Harry and Malfoy with an avid expression as if he were picking Harry's thoughts right out of his head. After a long, painful moment of silence, broken only by Malfoy's ragged breath, he reached forward and tugged on Malfoy's foot where it lay limp on the mattress.

"Enough whining, pet. You've shown Potter what's in store for him. Now, tell him how to please me."

Malfoy's fists closed, then opened and he slid off the bed, stooped and with a pained grimace on his face, but immediately obedient. Harry crouched against the headboard, withstanding the glare of Greyback's sharp eyes until the werewolf snatched his ankle and pulled. The claw tips pricked Harry's skin before Greyback sliced right through the seam of his trouser leg.

"Up, Potter. And lose the trousers. You won't need them any more."

Face tight, Harry stood, trying to swallow back the ball of broken glass in his throat. He couldn't break down, he told himself as his fingers tugged clumsily at the trouser button. He had to be strong, for himself and for Malfoy. Still, after scrambling free of the trouser legs he stood stubbornly in his briefs although Greyback's expression clearly showed his intentions. Not wasting a word, the werewolf cut the white fabric with his claws, leaving bloody lines on Harry's flesh as the pants fell away from him.

Observing his handiwork, Greyback cocked his head and ruffled Malfoy's hair in a parody of fatherly affection. "Well, pet - I'll have him before the night is out, and he'll work for it. Show him how well you've learned your lesson."

Harry threw a nervous look at the other boy, who had one hand clamped around the bedpost as if it was the only thing that kept him upright. Maybe it was.

"Go and kneel down in front of him, Potter." There was a rough catch to Malfoy's voice that made him sound paradoxically young.

Harry swallowed again without quite daring to look up. Instead, he stared at Greyback's hairy legs, set his face into a hard mask, and knelt. Watched the limp prick dangling before him, still red and wet from exertion, and struggled hard not to throw up.

"Touch it," Malfoy's voice ordered behind him, not so rough now, but devoid of any emotion. "Gently."

Harry did, closing shaky fingers around spongy flesh. He felt the heavy pulse under the skin, or maybe it was his own thrumming through his body.

"Not too gently…" Greyback looked down at him, and the urge to close his fist and squeeze the prick in his hand into bloody pulp raced through Harry's nerves. Only the memory of Ron's face held him back.

Carefully, Harry kneaded the warm flesh, feeling it tighten and harden. It must be Greyback's werewolf stamina that got him aroused again so quickly after orgasm. That, or seeing Harry on his knees before him served as the ultimate aphrodisiac.

"Stroke it a bit more," Malfoy said. "Yes, like that. Now, lick it - tip to root."

Quickly, Harry lowered his head when he felt his face scrunch up. You saw that coming, he berated himself.

He put the tip of his tongue to the crown of Greyback's cock, already salty with precome, and only gagged once at the thought of where it had been before. He traced the head, tongue dragging along the stretching foreskin, and over the soft bumps of veins that ran down to the underside.

The head slid wetly along Harry's chin as he licked his way up until his nose was buried in grey pubic hair. The feral smell that had clung to Malfoy was far more prominent here.

"Now, suck," Malfoy's voice drifted down to him. "And mind your teeth, or you'll pay."

Even as he closed his lips around the tip of Greyback's cock and suckled on the salty-wet flesh, Harry kept his ears pricked like a hunting dog for a sound of triumph or malevolence in Malfoy's tone, any sign that he enjoyed having the upper hand. Then he thought about how he himself would feel whispering into Malfoy's ear about how to bring Greyback off, and convulsed with a flare of shame as intense as the one brought on by having a Death Eater's prick in his mouth. He minded his teeth nonetheless.

Forcing himself to put more straining flesh into his mouth without waiting for Malfoy's prompt because he knew it would come and he wanted this travesty over with, Harry nonetheless gagged when the head hit the soft tissue at the back of his throat. His stomach lurched.

"Don't pull away," Malfoy lectured when Harry did exactly that. He needed air in his lungs, to stop himself from chucking up and to get Fenrir's awful taste out of his mouth.

Greyback's hand came down heavily on his head and neck just as he was trying to duck away.

"You listen to the pet!" the werewolf growled, then twisted his hips to shove himself back inside Harry's mouth until the tip of his prick closed off the back of Harry's throat.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes when air was suddenly gone. He gagged, mouth filled with flesh and musk, and could feel Greyback swell at the choked noises that escaped him. Harry tried to suck in air through his nose in a miserable wet sniffle, but to little avail. His toes curled and a stab of fear spiked in his stomach and, irrationally, in his groin.

"Use your tongue, Potter, and swallow." Malfoy's voice cut through Harry's panic, but all he managed was a weak wriggle as his tongue was being flattened under the engorged weight of Greyback's cock.

Swallowing proved nearly as hard because Harry knew what it would do, but he forced himself when the points of Greyback's nails started to dig into the back of his head. It left his throat full of cock, choking and abrasive and making his pulse race.

"Again!" Greyback growled, not relying on Malfoy to interpret his desires now, pumping in and out of Harry's mouth until even his tonsils burned.

Forcing his throat to obey a second time was even worse than the first. Swallowing popped his ears and lessened the pressure for a moment, but there was no air anywhere, only the taste and smell and hot, stifling presence of Greyback's cock. He kept it there with his hand wrapped in Harry's hair for an endless moment until Harry's world started to spin in dizzy circles and his feet made odd little scraping noises on the floor.

Then Fenrir pulled out completely, leaving an insulting smear of precome along Harry's cheek before bodily throwing him back onto the floor. Harry landed on his tailbone and bit back a cry.

Fenrir stood over him, his erection red and swollen again, and panic crashed over Harry like a wave. His vision narrowed, blanking out the room and Malfoy, who had edged back onto the bed. He couldn't see anything but the cock before him, and the monster. Greyback gave him ample time to savour the sight, mocking eyes raking over Harry's nude body before leaning down and dragging him to his feet. The hard grip around his upper arm left Harry's fingertips prickling.

"Not half as skilled as the pet," he commented, "but I think the Lestranges will have you trained up quickly enough. Me, I think one mouth's as good as any other."

He pulled Harry close until their bodies touched and Greyback's chest pelt scratched Harry's tender nipples. Hot, meaty breath hit Harry's face. The werewolf licked a wet stripe from Harry's chin to cheek, and Harry felt his face burn. Fenrir bit him, just below the ear, then licked away the blood he had drawn with a chuckle while Harry's body seized in fear.

"Oh yes, I will have your flesh tonight, Potter, and it will be almost as sweet as it would be under the full moon!"

The werewolf hurled him onto the bed, seemingly taking pleasure in manhandling his victims at every opportunity. He pounced before Harry could scramble out of the way, trapping Harry flat on his back and stretching out on top of him. The man's weight knocked the air out of Harry's lungs, the heavy cock pressing down into Harry's lap. Harry's heart hammered, then suddenly leapt into his mouth when he felt teeth at his exposed throat. Greyback bit down again, drawing pinpricks of blood and exhaling a deep, satisfied breath when Harry tensed underneath him. Another stab of heat pooled in his groin, of all places. When Greyback lifted himself off, Harry gasped for breath like a fish on dry land.

"Not so tough after all, are you pup?" the man whispered. "Enough playing now - up on your hands and knees, Potter."

He pinched Harry's thigh, a cruel tug and twist of skin that reddened, then darkened immediately. Harry scooted up on the bed, aware again of Malfoy, who crouched against the headboard hugging his knees. He'd been so quiet, had taken up so little space, that Harry had for a moment forgotten he was there. Now, Harry drew himself up onto shaking knees, hating the way his feet sunk into the worn mattress, thighs gaping open. He fixed his eyes on his hands, balled on the mattress so tightly that his knuckles showed white. It was all he could do not to hurl himself away, screeching like a mad animal when Greyback crawled up behind him, thighs lining up with Harry's while Greyback's groin pressed against his arse. The heat of the werewolf's erection touched Harry before the length of it actually pressed into his cleft. Harry clenched his teeth until his molars ached.

"Let's hope you sucked me wet enough," Greyback murmured into his ear, mock-gentle tone belied by the force with which he thrust himself between Harry's buttocks. He found the tiny ring of Harry's anus and pushed in, and Harry felt himself rip open in a red-hot roar of agony. He couldn't scream, arrested by shock, but he shrieked inwardly.

Of course he'd known that it would hurt, inescapably so. He'd seen Malfoy cry and tremble, but part of him had believed what Greyback kept insinuating so slyly: that he was tougher than Malfoy. Now, Greyback was forcing himself inside him and he knew it was a lie. The pain was such that Harry let out a raw howl as soon as he came up with air.

Greyback laughed and thrust forward again, hard and deep, and Harry's world surged in red fire. His elbows gave out, folding him facedown on the mattress. Only his hips, pulled up by Greyback's hands for the werewolf's convenience, stuck upright in a humiliating parody of obeisance.

Every movement of Greyback inside him produced a fresh shudder of pain as if it were the fangs of the wolf that were tearing into him rather than Greyback's cock. And above the pain, hot tears of shame stung in Harry's eyes, that this could happen to him - that after all he'd survived, after destroying Voldemort, he could be raped by a deranged enemy like an animal, with Malfoy to witness.

There was no humiliation in Cruciatus, Harry realised - just agony overriding every thought. But this? Despite the pain, Harry was acutely aware what was happening to him, how he was letting himself go under the onslaught.

Driven by pure instinct, he tried to scramble away. Greyback caught him effortlessly, one strong arm wrapping around Harry's middle. His hips surged forward to sink his cock back into Harry's hole with punishing force. With hysterical sobs threatening to spill from his throat, Harry slumped in Greyback's grip. Teeth grazed the raised skin of his neck as if Greyback wanted to inscribe himself on Harry's body for all the world to see. Then the werewolf threw his head back.

"Come here, pet. I think Potter needs a bit of distraction."

Malfoy entered Harry's field of vision, creeping forward until he knelt right in front of Harry. Only Greyback's arm around his middle kept Harry upright, and yet he wished it wouldn't allow his erstwhile rival to see him so clearly - dripping with sweat, face painfully flushed, his legs spread while Greyback was moving inside him.

Fenrir's hand slipped to grab Harry's cock, limp and frightened between his legs. He lifted it, and without needing a prompt, Malfoy bent down and licked around it. The sensation was such that Harry cried out again, struggling to escape the hot mouth.

Fenrir slapped the side of his head until Harry stilled, his ear ringing. Without paying attention, Malfoy sucked his cock down and slithered his tongue around it like a snake. Miserably, Harry could feel himself harden and wished Greyback had slapped him harder. If he'd fallen unconscious, he wouldn't have to feel his body betraying him. It wasn't that Fenrir's cock inside him hurt less - although the werewolf had slowed down his assault. Instead, he reached down to form a ring around the base of Harry's prick with thumb and index finger, cradling Harry's balls tightly in his wide palm. The pressure, and the shocking sweetness of Malfoy's mouth around him, transmuted the pain into something Harry refused to ponder.

Far too soon for Harry's traitorous cock, Greyback motioned Malfoy off him. The boy slid his lips off with a long slide and wiped a strand of saliva from his mouth.

The werewolf nodded at his belt that hung from the loops of his discarded trousers, just within reach. "Get it, pup."

Skin crawling, Harry leaned forward and pulled it free, only too aware that Greyback was still holding on to his prick. Without a word, Malfoy crossed his hands and offered them to Harry. His eyes were blank and cold in a way that made Harry shudder.

"Bind him," Greyback ordered, almost cheerfully. Harry wrapped the smooth leather around Malfoy's proffered hands. "Tighter!" Greyback hissed, and with a grimace of disgust, Harry pulled the belt tight until it cut into Malfoy's thin wrists.

"That's a good pet. Now, down and spread yourself open for our Harry," Greyback crooned, and at last something flashed in Malfoy's eyes before he turned. A glimpse of long, pale flank, and then Harry stared at Malfoy's buttocks, marred by darkening imprints of fingers and bloody marks from Greyback's nails.

"No!" Harry protested as soon as he caught the meaning. "I won't."

"You will," Greyback snarled. "Unless you want to watch me fuck him with my fist and then you'll fuck him to prevent me from doing it again."

Despite his already hunched posture, Malfoy seemed to duck down deeper still. A small sound of helpless protest escaped Harry's lips. He bowed his head - there was nothing to be done.

Malfoy spread his thighs, revealing a hole that was inflamed, distended and smeared with the grease Greyback had used to fuck him. Harry didn't want to touch Malfoy, didn't even want to look at him, but Malfoy shuffled backwards with small, crab-like movements as if that alone pained him until his arse touched the tip of Harry's prick where it rose up from Greyback's fist.

Using his hold around Harry's base, Greyback ran the erection suggestively up and down Malfoy's crack. "He is quite pretty, our pet, isn't he?" the werewolf's hot voice whispered in Harry's ear. He'd stopped moving inside Harry altogether, as if not to distract Harry's arousal.

"There's nothing 'pretty' about any of this!" Harry snarled, even as he felt the head of his cock strain against its foreskin.

"Keep lying to yourself, pup." Greyback chuckled and pushed Harry's erection forward until it pressed against Malfoy's entrance. "This is telling the truth."

Lips cold with rage, Harry inched forwards as carefully as he could. Malfoy opened around him in a reluctant, dragging squeeze of flesh that stole Harry's breath. He stared down at the arched back before him, fists balled because he feared that if he didn't he would touch Malfoy, and he didn't want to do that to him. There was beauty after all, twisted and abused and trembling, but beauty nonetheless.

"Very touching," Greyback sneered. "But I told you to fuck him, not to make love like an infatuated virgin on his wedding night." He let go of Harry's cock and balls now that Harry was deep enough into Malfoy to have nowhere else to go, and put his hand back on Harry's hip. "Though that's of course exactly what you are, isn't it, Potter? Let me show you the ropes, then."

Harry had no time to brace himself before Greyback thrust into him once more with even more force than before. He yelled as he was slammed into Malfoy so hard that he fell forward over the Slytherin's body, only just managing to prop himself up on both hands without crushing him. Still, Malfoy hissed in pain, his channel rippling around Harry's prick as if trying to push him out.

Agony flared up in Harry's arse, worse than what he'd felt before because now Greyback had gone past the preliminaries of penetration and started to hammer into Harry as if to fuck Malfoy through him. The thrusts had changed his angle and shoved him deeper into the other boy than he'd ever wanted to go. Undoubtedly, Greyback got the ultimate kick out of the scenario - fucking Harry's body, and his mind, and Malfoy all at once.

Malfoy's back contorted in pain below him, and Harry could hear the whimper he tried to muffle against the mattress.

Harry breathed a soundless "Ssh!" against snags of blond hair and the salty neck under his lips, cheek brushing the rough leather of Malfoy's collar. Soundless, because he didn't want Greyback to hear and pound Harry even harder.

Then he gritted his teeth and forced his watery knees and cramped arms to straighten. It impaled him on Greyback's cock to the hilt, fresh pain screaming through his nerves, flaring up his spine and down to his feet. It took the edge off Malfoy, though, which was the point - he'd be damned if he let Greyback turn his body into a torture instrument.

"Nice, Potter." Greyback gave a lewd hum of appreciation and thrust again, picking up a brutal rhythm that left Harry feeling as if he was being flayed alive from the inside. He whimpered, biting his bottom lip bloody to smother his screams, still trying to cushion Malfoy from the full force of the werewolf's assault.

The pain was honed to an exquisite edge by the fact that despite his efforts he was now fucking Malfoy nearly as hard as Greyback fucked him, and the clutch of Malfoy's arse around his cock kept him hard despite the pain.

"Yes, nice," Greyback repeated, fangs grazing the shell of Harry's ear. His voice had lowered to a drawn-out, hungry growl. "But you should know better by now, shouldn't you?"

And then suddenly Greyback's arm closed around Harry's neck, forcing his head up until he was crushed against the werewolf's chest, Greyback's hairy, sinewy forearm pressed against Harry's throat like the knotted branch of the Whomping Willow. Harry heard Malfoy gasp as the angle of penetration shifted again, and every hair on his neck and arms stood up at the terrible helplessness of being so effortlessly trapped. He wriggled, more a testing of leverage than an escape attempt, and Greyback's grip tightened around his throat. Panic surged through Harry's body in a dark, sweet wave that left his cock straining. He stilled completely, offering surrender in his body language. The memory of Greyback's cock in his throat, cutting off his air supply, was too fresh, too terrifying, and he could feel himself breaking out in cold sweat.

Greyback's arm tightened again, his other hand still holding on to Harry's hip in a brutal grip. He pulled back, then shoved himself forward again. Blood started to roar in Harry's ears, and he gasped desperately for what little air the obstruction allowed into his lungs. The next thrust, hard on the heel of the previous, forced him deep into Malfoy without warning, wrenching a cry from the other boy.

Harry felt his limbs beginning to shake as he fought for breath. Greyback rammed into him, hard and fast and merciless. His control was slipping. He felt himself jerk in the twin hell of agony and lack of breath, fighting for real now. His nails dug into Greyback's arm, pulling and scrabbling but at the same time his vision was fading again, strength sapped along with oxygen, and he knew he couldn't free himself, not pinned and impaled as he was. Instead, he twitched like a puppet on a string under the werewolf's thrusts, only distantly aware of Malfoy's cries as he was plunged into him.

Now he would have begged, but had no breath for it. Greyback crushed his throat harder yet, turning Harry's throat into a burning column. Harry's body reacted to mortal danger with the single-mindedness of survival. With his vision a red-rimmed tunnel of black and his mind screaming for air, his body twisted itself and spilled his seed into the writing body beneath him in a rush so painfully intense that it blanked out even the pain. The dark roared, built up all around him…

… and then suddenly he could breathe, through a larynx that felt like a red-hot wire, but it was air and Harry gulped it down frantically. Behind him, Greyback grunted, still thrusting away.

Harry heard Greyback's triumphant howl as he came, but couldn't feel anything other than the sweet air in his lungs. After almost reaching the haven of oblivion, his mind didn't want to return to his aching body. It didn't last long, though - Greyback pulled out of him, wiping his dripping cock on Harry's buttocks, then pulled Harry's head up by the hair until his scalp screamed. He yelled - he definitely felt that.

"Learned your lesson?"

Harry's body shuddered, seized by a tremor that nearly sent his teeth achatter. Despite the cruel pull on his hair, he nodded - anything to make Greyback let go.

"Good!"

The werewolf did, sending Harry in a tangle of limbs onto Malfoy, who cried out with a sharp, pained sound that cut through Harry. It made him realise that, softened or not, he was still buried in Malfoy's arse.

Harry tried to disentangle himself as fast and as carefully as possible, barely noting that the werewolf wiped himself with a rag that had obviously seen a lot of the same before, before grabbing his trousers and easing into them with a languorous roll of his hips. He undid the belt that tied Draco's wrists and slid it through the loops at his hips. With a toothy grin over his shoulder, he made for the door.

"Don't go anywhere, pup."

He didn't even bother closing the door, but Harry was too preoccupied trying not to see the strands of come he'd spilled in his moment of sheer terror. A glimpse at Malfoy's arse revealed blood - not much, nothing like the hole Harry was sure Greyback had torn into him, but a damning trickle down the inside of Malfoy's upper thigh, and, oh God, more blood smeared over the head of Harry's cock.

Harry choked, scooting backwards only to feel a stab of agony flare through his arse, reminding him of the way Greyback had slammed into him. He collapsed, keening, trembling so hard now that his teeth chattered. Suddenly, it was as hard to breathe as if Greyback was still choking him. His chest ached, and he could feel his heart thudding in irregular beats.

A rap to the head, all knuckles and with quite a bit of force behind it, made him jolt. Breath stuttered back into his lungs, and he reflexively rubbed his stinging head. There was Malfoy's angry face glaring down at him, mouth twisted into a thin line of disdain that mirrored his father's.

Although it was a relief to see rage after the servile passivity Malfoy had shown Fenrir, there was something of a trapped, raging animal in Malfoy's body language. A soft, distant whisper deep inside Harry felt drawn to it. At the same time, it made Harry wonder about the half-healed claw and bite marks that marred Malfoy's skin.

"Can you afford to lose it, 'pup'?" Draco snapped, every bit as feral as his namesake.

Shame flooded Harry's face. He started to look away, only to freeze when Malfoy made to hit him again.

"Why does he allow it?" Harry blurted out, the question foremost on his mind ever since he'd seen Draco on the bed. "Your father - he's here. How can he let this happen to you?"

Malfoy's face turned icy. "Because he has no wand. Because he has no choice." His angry mask shook, crumbled. "My mother, Potter. They have my mother!"

With him sitting so close, Harry could, for the first time, see the piece of white ribbon at the hollow of Malfoy's throat, almost entirely obscured by the bulkiness of the collar. Not vibrant like Ron's, but luminous white with the faintest blue and pink highlights.

Harry stared at it in dismay, admitting to himself that he'd blindly pegged Malfoy as someone who'd debase himself the way he had just to save his own skin. Now, he saw the bars of the cage enclosing them both mirrored in the way Malfoy's eyes blanked out again, until he turned away, carving out for himself a solitary little corner of the mattress.

Malfoy's back did not shake, but neither did he turn back again, leaving Harry with his bloodied cock and come-stained hands and the ribbon that was Ron's life curling around his throat.

Wrapping his arms around his chest, Harry waited, never once moving or looking up, until they came to drag him away.

It turned out to be one of the better nights among those that followed. As Rabastan had promised, they did their utmost to make Harry rue his decision, and succeeded. They passed him back and forth among them, night after night, until days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, and somewhere along the way, Harry stopped caring about such things as time passing. He survived. No more, no less.

During the day and the rare night when no one wanted his company, Harry was locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, a fact that left him doubled over with hysterical laughter the first time he was shoved into it. They didn't know; Rabastan at least would have mocked him otherwise. Despite its raw brick and debris, its stuffy dark and its spiders, the cupboard held the comforts of a childhood hidey-hole. They left him his torn Auror robes as a blanket, and if they'd hoped that their choice of prison would unsettle him, they were disappointed.

They didn't starve him either. Fenrir brought in fresh and dry meats for Harry and Draco, delighted as if he was feeding a kennel of cubs; Rabastan fed Harry by hand, morsels of rich food, sweets and sometimes even wine or liqueurs, after making him beg or earn them in elaborate ways. There was a tray with sandwiches and strong tea every so often in his hole under the stairs. No, they definitely did not want him to waste away from anything that wasn't up close and personal.

Harry learned to fear Rodolphus Lestrange with a bone-deep, raw terror above all others. Not for the way he fucked. Rodolphus always took Harry face-down just as Greyback preferred, stroking his naked back and tangling his hands in Harry's hair. Harry could have borne the fucking. Inevitably, Rodolphus made sure he was hard for it, making Harry touch himself, or sometimes, kneeling behind him, fully sheathed inside Harry's arse, he would coax Harry to hardness with his own hand. As inevitably, however, when he approached climax, Rodolphus would secure Harry's hands behind his back with the tasselled cord of the bed curtain, and cast the Cruciatus Curse, letting Harry's writhing propel him to orgasm. It could last a minute, sometimes two or more, until Harry shrieked and sobbed and begged for death.

There was no way of telling what Rodolphus saw in those moments of twisted ecstasy – Harry, a random victim, Bellatrix's killer or Bellatrix herself. Though certainly not even the Lestranges, deranged as they were, would have fucked each other with the Cruciatus Curse?

Harry had quickly learned to plead after the curse had taken him by surprise that first time. 'Please don't do this again, please, I'll do anything you want...' Rodolphus just looked through him with those vacant black eyes while laying him out, binding him, as Harry cried and trembled in terror.

The mere thought of Rodolphus was enough to leave Harry sweating with fear. His brother, however, was danger of a different kind.

Rabastan had been the one who'd wanted Harry in the first place, and now he played his victory to the hilt. He took eerie delight in tying Harry to his bed, or the chaiselongue, and tormenting him for hours. Transfiguring everyday items into an assortment of sex toys just to see what they would do to Harry. Laying into him with switches, crops and paddles after ordering Harry to keep perfectly still until heat turned to pain and pain mounted to a point where Harry tried to crawl away and could then be punished for that.

The younger Lestrange reminded Harry of an overgrown boy in a toy store, and Harry made for the perfect plaything - too shiny to break or scuff up too badly, yet nothing that required much care. Like a doll you kept twisting at the joints, not quite wanting to break it, but testing how far it could bend before cracking.

Harry painfully remembered the night Rabastan had fed him potion-laced chocolates on the couch, then spread the liquid core of another over Harry's prick until the aphrodisiac left him so hard he cried, unable to bring himself off. Rabastan plied him with licks, kisses, clamps and his riding crop while an enchanted plug hummed deep inside Harry's arse, mixing pain and need and pleasure into something so potent that Harry feared he would drown in it.

He gave the man everything he asked for, did everything his too-innocent imagination could come up with that Rabastan might want for his pleasure. Craving for release, Harry spent the night bound hand and foot to the chaiselongue, incapable of touching himself and writhing from unfulfilled desire until the potion started to wear off in the early morning hours. Rabastan made a point of detouring both times he left his four poster for the bathroom to curl his hand around Harry's straining cock and bring him back to hardness until Harry had to bite his tongue not to scream abuse at the man.

Where Rodolphus just wanted him howling in agony, Rabastan wanted him obedient - jumping at every word or finger snap, kneeling gracefully, begging prettily. As much as Harry hated the man, he had to admit that Rabastan had a gift for touch, unerringly finding Harry's most sensitive and vulnerable spots. Below the agony of being denied release, however, lay the agonising, rare sweetness of being permitted. The urge of submitting, of yielding to pleasure or the lack of it, of stopping the struggle for self-control and just letting Rabastan's hands roam over him and eliminate all conscious thought. The idea scared Harry to death, but it didn't make the prospect any less seductive.

Harry must have been a godsend to cure the Lestranges' frustrations. The brothers wouldn't touch Draco, as Harry had found out when Rabastan backhanded him for asking the question, snarling to 'curb his vile Muggle imagination'. Apparently Death Eater morals forbade molesting one's nephew by marriage, but handing him over to be raped and mauled by a werewolf was all right.

Greyback himself took an unholy delight in setting Harry up above Draco, knowing how much Harry hated it. The rough sex Harry could have, well, not got used to, but borne. Being made to fuck - to hurt - Draco was agony.

The very first time Greyback had handed Harry his belt and ordered him to whip the other boy, Harry had flat-out refused. He'd shivered when the werewolf dragged him to a bedpost and bound him there with his hands behind his back, trying to anticipate what revenge he'd take. Greyback had picked up the belt, then turned to lay into Malfoy, ignoring Harry's yells of protest until Malfoy's backside was striped with red welts from shoulders to calves.

Then he spread Draco's thighs apart, arranging him just so that Harry could view him perfectly, then balled his fist, raised it as if to greet Harry, and kissed his knuckles. Harry's scream of protest when he understood was drowned out by Malfoy's terrified shrieks as Greyback greased up his hand and began to shove his fingers into the young man's unprepared hole. At one point, Harry's endless string of pleas and curses must have become tiresome, because Greyback withdrew the four fingers he'd already worked into Malfoy and strolled over to Harry, shoving a pair of discarded fingerless gloves between Harry's teeth to gag him. Unmoved by his glare, Greyback stroked his cheek with the knuckles he'd just withdrawn from Malfoy, leaving a stripe of blood and the sharp lubrication grease he was so fond of using, before kissing the corner of Harry's silenced mouth as if to heap insult on injury.

"Your decision," he murmured before returning to Malfoy, making very certain Harry could see everything that was happening.

Malfoy's screams had turned hoarse by the time Greyback had his hand worked into him in its entirety, and turned to sickening, high whines that sounded more animal than human when he balled it to a fist inside Malfoy's over-strained arse.

When it was over, Malfoy's body lay splayed on the filthy mattress like a discarded rag, so motionless that Harry feared the shock might have killed him. Perhaps it would have been merciful if it had.

Without sparing his broken victim another glance, Greyback went back to Harry, pulled the leather glove from between his clenched teeth, cut the cords that tied him to the post, and thrust the belt back into his hand.

This time, Harry used it on Malfoy's chalky flesh without a word of protest, aware that the boy was probably too far gone to feel anything, but determined to correct a mistake he would never make again.

When taking Harry in turn became boring, his captors had him waiting naked on his knees in the dining room of their claustrophobic safe-house while they played chess or Snap, the victor leading him away to his bedroom like a prize. And claustrophobic it was. There were high windows in every room, but they were hung with curtains and it was always dark when Harry was let out of his cupboard. The one time he managed to sneak a peek beyond, there was nothing outside other than a grey wall of fog. Somehow, the house had been sealed away, hidden behind some shielding magic. The Death Eaters themselves never seemed to venture outside.

After a while, they left the choice of abuser to him every so often, which rattled Harry most of all. He was too terrified to pick Rodolphus, and increasingly aware of the degree to which Rabastan's poisonous touches managed to twist him. Entering Fenrir's lair all too often meant entering Draco, but what scared Harry to the core was that he'd somehow learned to find pleasure in that. Plunging into Draco's arse, or feeling that hot, skilled mouth around his prick, brought with it a few moments of fleeting, stolen peace. A chance to forget where he was, what had become of him, even if it meant suffering Fenrir slamming into him. It was an escape that his mind resented, but his body craved it nonetheless.

Between them, they peeled his soul like an onion, shredding his defences layer by layer, and every night under their hands wound him tighter like a screw tightening towards the breaking point.

He could feel the legacy of Fenrir's teeth now, roiling inside him as it did inside Draco. The animal was mindless, destructive, a fighting instinct that roared to lash out against his tormentors, railing against being held in check - against dancing obedience to each of Rabastan's lewd commands, lying paralyzed with terror under Rodolphus's hands waiting for the curse to strike, and smelling prey on Draco's white skin. Sometimes, Harry wondered how Draco dealt with it, submitting without feeling the overwhelming rage that tore at Harry. Then he recalled the blank, smooth face that hardly came to life at all, and wondered if that was what would happened when the pressure finally broke him. It wasn't an if any longer - only a when.

He sensed the moon, stronger the second time it bloomed than the first, and not just in himself. Greyback was rougher, too, in the days before the full moon: all feral urge but with less conscious malevolence. Draco went so far as to strike Harry across the face when he tried to pet his hair for comfort once, growling until Harry trailed his hands down Draco's body, mouth travelling from belly button to the crease of Draco's thighs. It was the only time he ever got to suck Draco off, with long-fingered hands winding painfully in his hair and Draco's cock weighing down his tongue. Harry enjoyed it, even though Greyback watched and afterwards told him off for his weakness and fucked Draco hard, to remind him of his place.

Lucius Malfoy never touched Harry at all. Never spoke to him, never looked at him except with contemptuous distaste. As the weeks dragged by, with Harry spread out and torn between the three Death Eaters, it didn't leave Harry grateful. Instead, it filled him with a terrible, searing rage.

Malfoy could have demanded his share, could have offered a reprieve for an occasional night. Hell, he could have fucked him too; all that Harry wanted was a little bit of breathing space, a few hours safe in the company of someone who was not sinking hooks into his mind to see if he'd tear himself apart.

Harry's shrinking rational side objected in Lucius's favour - that he wouldn't want to fuck the man who fucked his son, that maybe he didn't get off on men, or rape - but Harry cheerfully hated him nonetheless. Hatred felt too good to give up. He could safely rage at Lucius, could hammer the rough floor of his cupboard pretending it was Lucius's face he was bashing in, where his mind would not permit him to rage at the Lestranges or Fenrir. He couldn't indulge his hatred for them, which might, in a moment of tension, spill over from fantasy to word or deed. Not when it could cost Ron's life.

Harry's fingers went up to touch the ribbon at his throat so often that it became unconscious habit, though he flinched every time Fenrir or the Lestranges fingered it to remind him of his place. The ribbon remained pristine, silky and vibrant, but there was no telling whether anything but death would do damage to it. Harry kept it carefully detached from Ron in his mind, though. He couldn't allow himself to think about Ron, about where he had been dragged off to, what was happening to him. He had to hope that tormenting him, Harry, would keep the Death Eaters busy. If he started to dwell on his fears for Ron's fate, he'd go mad.

Lucius Malfoy, however, was fair game until Harry could not lay eyes on the frost-pale hair and aristocratic features without seeing them through a pink-tinged cloud of fury. Lucius, who'd promised… well, something, and then let him down.

The rage he'd kept stoked so lovingly for weeks boiled over one early evening when he knelt on the carpet of the dining room, watching Rabastan win at Burning Snap. While Rabastan cheerfully picked up a collar from the table and snapped it around Harry's throat, Fenrir shook his singed fingers with a curse. Lucius stared in disgust at the burn mark on his embroidered sleeve while Rodolphus, having folded in time, was looking down absent-mindedly at his pile of cards.

"It looks as if poor Draco is going to have to make do with Fenrir's attentions tonight instead of enjoying Potter's tender mercies," Rabastan commented slyly. "I'm so glad you don't mind, Lucius."

Harry could see Malfoy's jaw tighten, although he managed to keep his rage off his face. "Draco's own weakness has brought about his chastisement," Lucius commented with a dismissive shrug. "It will toughen him up, and he will emerge as a stronger man."

What utter crap! Harry didn't quite dare to say that aloud, but the look he shot Malfoy across the table spoke volumes. Draco was more than half cracked already, and the only thing he'd emerge as would be a raving madman. Harry had been training to become an Auror, not a psychologist, but even he could see that.

Twirling the thin chain attached to Harry's collar between his fingers, the younger Lestrange smirked at Lucius, comfortably falling into the familiar game of needling the man. For all of Lucius's playing along as if he still was among equals, it was very clear who called the shots, and who had lost his power.

"Why else would you be passing up on our dishy little morsel here?" Rabastan petted Harry's cheek, then reached down to tweak his nipple. "If not out of pity for your own lost lamb? I've never known you to deny yourself - boys, girls… peacocks? Why not have him, then? You must be awfully frustrated."

Madness bubbled up in Harry, a heady, thrilling thing. "Yes, why don't you?" he drawled.

Rabastan and Fenrir would have beaten him to within an inch of his life if he'd looked at them with even half as much insolence, but now they leaned back without bothering to hide their smirks to watch the clash unfold. Even Rodolphus looked amused. It wasn't that Harry found Lestrange's taunts funny, far from it, but it warmed his blood to see Lucius squirm and boil under his arrogant façade. Pure madness, but Rabastan's proximity made him shudder, as if the leash he'd clasped to Harry's collar were a physical extension of the man's body. Anything to put off his fate a little longer. And if it goaded Lucius, all the better.

"I can't help but feel that for all your boasting, you haven't trained this one to obey his betters very well," Lucius remarked to his companions.

Harry looked up from where he knelt, a provocative glance from underneath half-lowered lids.

"Oh, they have taught me to obey my betters, better than you think."

Two long strides, and Lucius grabbed the chain from Rabastan's hand, who let go with a smirk. Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, the collar cutting sharply into Harry's neck. He stumbled, but caught himself.

Then Lucius's cane swung at him, catching him across the chest and knocking him back onto the worn carpet before the fireplace. Harry hissed. On his chest, a welt formed from upper arm to nipple. Malfoy raised his cane once more.

"If you're spoiling for a fight, Potter - have it."

The cane came down, smacking the side of Harry's hip, a dull flare of pain that thundered through him as if the blow had sent his hipbone ringing. He bared his teeth.

"That's not a fight," he ground out. "I can't fight back."

Stopping in mid-strike, Malfoy looked down at him, his mouth curled up in an expression that was as far from a grin as Harry had ever seen.

"Unlike my… associates, I don't need to rely on the life of your little friend to keep you in line. You think you can take me on, boy? Try!"

Harry was up and moving before the words had even properly penetrated his mind, like an animal that saw the leash sag, the cage door gaping, and the hated kennel master outside. He barely heard the cane strike his front again, although he felt it, throwing him several feet back until he broke his fall with the table edge.

Pushing himself off to lunge again, this time he managed to duck away from Malfoy's blow and landed a hit to the side of his face. Malfoy bared his teeth, hurling him away. Harry staggered back, the world spinning dizzily. The cane smashed down on his hip, a sharp, ripping pain and Harry felt blood trickle down his thigh. He landed hard on his knees again, and another fiery trail blazed across his buttocks. With Harry on the ground, Malfoy turned the cane in his hand, firmly gripping the snake handle he'd drawn blood with.

Harry had known at the back of his rational mind that he'd never stood a chance. Malfoy wouldn't have dared him if he'd posed a danger. The cane rose and fell, impacting on the fleshy parts of Harry's anatomy - buttocks, thighs, hips. A few strokes hit his back and arms and calves, and his bones groaned under them. Rabastan had beaten him often enough, but with a wooden cane that, while it stung and smarted, had had neither the weight nor the force of Lucius's solid silver. Harry twisted, hissing under the blows, then surrendered to raw cries as they kept on coming.

His flesh and bones ached, until Harry felt as if even his inner organs were bruised. He sucked in high, whiny breaths like a thirsty dog when Lucius stopped and leaned the cane against the table. From the way Harry's entire body burned, he was surprised to see it wasn't spattered with blood.

"Some things are more satisfying when done without magic," Lucius commented casually, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose from his ponytail back behind his ear. "Still, Rabastan, if you'd summon something that will discipline the young fool without breaking his bones? You've won tonight's game after all - I don't want to spoil your entertainment."

Yes, while Rodolphus and Fenrir couldn't care less whether Harry came to them with the marks of the previous night, Rabastan was quite skilled with healing charms. He preferred a blank canvas to work on. Now, there was a distinct hint of amusement in his voice.

"But of course, dear brother-in-law."

A wand flick, and one of the dinner forks on the table twitched and lengthened until Rabastan held a slender but vicious-looking riding crop which he offered to Lucius with a bow. Lucius reached for it, his attention diverted from Harry for a moment.

Gathering his fading strength, Harry threw himself around, reaching for Malfoy's ankle to bring him crashing down. The Death Eater twisted himself away at the last moment, and the foot Harry had been aiming for caught him in the stomach. Breath hissed out of Harry's lungs. He curled around the stabbing pain at his middle, seeing sparks while Malfoy tore the hem of his cloak out of his fingers.

The crop cut a thin line across Harry's left thigh. Harry groaned, reflexively pressing his palm to the cut, only to pull it back with a yelp when the crop hit the back of his hand. The next lash hit his throat, the tip biting the underside of his chin until Harry cowered down with his cheek pressed to the carpet. He shielded his face with one hand, his groin with the other. It left his back vulnerable, however, and on that Lucius went to work with a vengeance as if he, too, had nurtured his rage and was now using Harry's poor body to vent himself.

Although he tried to bear his punishment stoically, Harry found himself jerking and moaning under the flurry of blows, trying to get away from the lash. It felt as if Malfoy was splashing him with drops of liquid fire.

And then it was over. Dropping the crop, Lucius pulled Harry to his feet, then slammed him face-first into the slate-panelled wall around the fireplace. At the last second, Harry managed to turn his head aside to avoid bashing his teeth in. Instead, his face impacted from temple to chin, a jarring jolt of pain that promised to leave a nasty bruise.

Malfoy kicked his legs apart, and Harry tensed, knowing, dreading what would come. Lucius grabbed his wrists, capturing them in one hand and pulled them up behind his back until Harry let out a scream. His shoulders and arms were covered in welts, and having his arms twisted like this would have hurt like hell without the additional discomfort.

He heard cloth rustle, aware that Malfoy was undoing the front of his robes, and then he felt Malfoy's cock push forward against his unprepared hole. Harry froze, unable to struggle because Malfoy's grip on his arms was too painful.

Malfoy's cock poked his hole, guided in by Malfoy's free hand, and then Malfoy shoved himself forward so abruptly that Harry screamed against the cold stone. The force of it almost crushed his groin against the wall.

He had no time to adjust before Malfoy started to pound into him, sharp, jerky thrusts that had to hurt him nearly as much as they hurt Harry. Although Harry had become adjusted to being at the receiving end of a cock over the past weeks, he nearly crawled into the wall to escape the full force of Malfoy's rage.

Malfoy had not undone his trousers properly, nor taken off his robe, only bared the stiff flesh of his cock while the fabric of his clothes rubbed against the welts and scratches that covered Harry's entire back. Another thrust, and Harry had to push his buttocks back a little, even if it meant giving Lucius a deeper angle to penetrate him. It was the only way to prevent his limp prick from being shredded against the slate.

"Is this what you wanted, Potter?" Lucius hissed into his ear, blond hair coming free of his hair tie and falling around Harry's shoulders like a frozen waterfall. He was thrusting into Harry so hard it almost knocked all breath from Harry's lungs.

"No," Harry ground out, a wheezing sound that broke off in a hiss as Malfoy rammed into him again, bruising his hipbone against the brick.

"That's too bad, Potter. It is what you earned."

Lucius snapped his hips forward again, searing Harry's channel while his cloak flapped around them, shielding their interlocked bodies from sight. So much like wings that Harry felt wrapped up like a vampire victim, only that Malfoy was feasting on the wrong part of his body.

At least it was over quickly. Malfoy pressed himself against Harry when he came, as if to absorb his body in more ways than just the sexual, spilling deep inside him with a familiar squishy, disgusting sensation.

When he let go of Harry's wrists and pulled out, another whimper escaped Harry's throat. His arms hurt so badly he could barely feel his hands, and his arse burned like fire.

A rough shove, and Harry found himself flung back onto his knees on the carpet. Knees buckling, he almost collapsed entirely, feeling sticky semen between his thighs. Lucius walked towards him, all properly buttoned up again with the hem of his cloak whipping around his ankles. The riding crop was back in his hands.

"No!" Harry pleaded through cracked lips, too weak to move as the coil flashed over his buttocks, driving him to the floor. Lucius's boot on his hip kept him in place, kept him from protecting his groin. Harry stared up, mouth moving in soundless entreaty but Malfoy only gazed down with a slow, dark smile, then snapped the crop over Harry's upper thighs. The tip flicked against Harry's prick almost tenderly before the pain blossomed. Harry could feel his eyes spill over. His belly and legs burned under the onslaught that came even harder than before, as if Malfoy was trying to punish him for having to fuck him on top of everything else.

When Malfoy took his foot away, Harry curled up like a dying caterpillar while Malfoy went to work on his back. Writhing on the ground, Harry felt lash after lash raining down on him, until the world bloomed in pain. The rough carpet scratched his stomach raw, inflaming the welts that adorned it, scraping along his prick until he screamed in agony. Then something reared up inside him, immense and tidal, and he spilled himself onto the carpet in a drawn-out scream.

A helpless whine escaped his lips, shame so acute that he could barely hear the Death Eaters laughing at him. How could he come like this, when he'd not even noticed that he had an erection?

Even his shame was swept away by the next volley of blows. It no longer felt like a rain of fire but rather like hail that buffeted Harry's helpless body and left him too weak to think. Pain mounted, surged and then morphed into pure, unadulterated heat. It enveloped Harry, cocooning him, as if in the loving arms of a dragon who cradles its eggs before breathing life into them.

Perhaps he had burned to cinders, Harry thought faintly. Perhaps Lucius had cracked the feeble shell of his body at last, and the real Harry inside was left to float away, invisible and loved and wrapped in a sense of peace that eclipsed even the calm he'd felt in that illusionary meeting with Dumbledore at King's Cross.

But he was breathing after all, he found, and he still hurt, although for the moment, it had almost ceased to matter. His hands spread, stroking the carpet under his palm, inexplicably happy. He could feel his face twist, and wondered whether he was smiling.

He looked up, offering his face to the whip along with himself, but the blows had stopped. He could see Lucius's face bent over him - cool eyes, thin mouth, sharp chin surrounded by a halo of frosty hair. Behind him, the room was dark, or maybe Lucius was the only thing Harry still had the energy to see.

Lucius observed him with just as much interest, for a long time. Finally, he dropped the whip and shook his head. When he moved out of range, Harry felt bereft, hurt as if someone had dropped an ice cube on his chest, right above the heart. A sense of betrayal ate its way into him when Lucius turned to address the Lestranges.

"How about stringing him up until he's calmed down?" He nodded at the set of handcuffs that dangled subtly from a chain fastened to the wall. Rabastan had conjured them one evening while they played chess for Harry's body, letting him dangle there, the small key that unlocked the cuffs hung around his neck in mockery; Rabastan claimed he enjoyed the way the strain accentuated the lines of Harry's body. Afterwards, Harry had almost been grateful when Rodolphus took him down and led him towards his Spartan bedroom.

A soft cry broke from Harry's lips as his arms were wrenched up, and then the shackles closed around his wrists. He cried out again when the weight of his body pulled on them, trying to find purchase on the floor with his toes, but trembling too hard to find his balance on tiptoes. Finally, he just hung there, tears spilling down his cheeks from pain and confusion.

Lucius touched a cool hand to his burning cheek for a moment. It was wet when he pulled it away. He reached up to fasten the chains above Harry's head, then took the little key from its hook on the wall and hung it around Harry's neck. Afterwards, he sauntered over to the dining table and accepted a glass of wine from Rabastan.

"Why don't we let him cool his heels a bit," Harry heard him suggest. He watched the man drain his glass, then reach back to re-tie his hair properly. "I'm sure he will be perfectly docile later, Rabastan, once he's had time to reflect on his foolishness."

Incredulous, Harry watched them rise, Fenrir with a leer, Rabastan with a dry chuckle and an expression that almost, but not entirely, amounted to respect. Lucius was the last to leave. His eyes travelled over Harry's body, then up to his face. He held Harry's gaze for a short moment. Then he turned and switched off the light.

Harry hung there alone in the dark, small sobs hitching in his throat, his arms trying to tear themselves from their sockets. His toes were scuffling over the carpet, straining to support his body. He managed, for a moment, then sobbed as he slipped and slumped again.

In a sudden fit of rage, he tore at the chains, only to be rewarded with a dull rattle. Then something slipped, a hard little jolt. Harry froze and looked up. The chain that connected the handcuffs was fastened far above his head, running through a cast-iron ring. Only that now, it didn't. The ring itself was there, screwed to the wall, but the chain was looped over it, not running through as it was supposed to be. If Malfoy...

No, Malfoy must have forgotten to secure it safely when Rabastan's magic had hoisted Harry up. It was the only thing that made sense.

Harry tried to calm his frantic heartbeat and took deep breaths. If he could get up on his toes again, he might be able to dislodge the chain. The little key to the cuffs burned on his chest.

It took three attempts, each of which left Harry covered in fresh sweat and nearly tore his shoulder muscles before another jerk forward brought the chain slipping down over the ring at least. He crashed to the floor, bruising his knees, but triumph heated the inside of his stomach. With a wild grin on his face, he fumbled for the key. It took several tries before his slippery, shaking fingers managed to unlock the shackles around his wrists. Then he was free.

Free and trembling and bruised all over. Harry pulled himself to his feet and risked another glimpse behind the nearest curtain. Still nothing but grey. The door would be sealed as well, no doubt. A Fidelius variant - they'd heard about them in Auror training, but hadn't learned how to break them yet.

For all his aches and pains, Harry's mind was clear in a way it hadn't been since he'd seen Draco naked on Greyback's bed, as if Lucius's whipping had not just forced his seed from him, but also exorcised the miasma of fear and rage he'd struggled against.

Despite being naked and hurt and probably operating in a state of shock, he knew this was the best chance he'd get at making a run for it. He turned the cuffs over in his hands, studying the marks they had left on his wrists. If he tried to escape now, he might die, and Ron with him. If he did not, he would suffer, and continue to suffer, until they killed him or turned him into something as vile as his captors. And now, after Lucius had stripped him to the core for all to see, he could not go back.

The sound of the door handle being pushed down turned his thoughts moot in a heartbeat. Harry whirled around to see Rabastan in the doorway, cradled by the lamplight from the corridor. For a second, Harry didn't know who looked more surprised, he or the Death Eater. Rabastan, come back to get him?

Rabastan's hand dropped to his belt with the speed of a trained duellist, and Harry sent the shackles flying towards him. Fuelled by adrenaline, they caught the Death Eater right in the face, cutting off his "Stup-" in mid-syllable. Rabastan swayed and dropped on one knee. Harry was on him in a heartbeat, hands folded into a fist. He slammed them against Rabastan's temple, then did it again for good measure before allowing the man to slump to the floor. Where it wasn't bruised, Lestrange's face was white and slack. Harry didn't want to touch him to feel for a pulse, but he could see his chest rising.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Rabastan under the arms and pulled him out of sight behind the table. A vicious little voice inside him suggested stringing him up in Harry's place, but he squashed it. Harry confiscated the fallen wand, feeling a little shiver of pleasure at the familiar sensation of wood under his palm. He went through the man's pockets, discovering a silver pendant with arcane symbols. He wrapped its chain tightly around his wrist despite the raw, bloody skin the chains had left there. Part of him wanted to take the Death Eater's robe as well to cover his nakedness, but before he could bring himself to undress the man, a harsh cry sounded from the doorway.

Harry's head flew up and he raised Rabastan's wand. Something flared in his chest when he looked into Rodolphus's face, staring down incredulously at his fallen brother and at Harry kneeling over him. Behind him stood Lucius Malfoy, unmistakable by his hair.

Although a curse curling on his tongue, Harry's muscles seized when he saw Rodolphus's wand aimed at his face. He couldn't move, mind and body awash with the memory of the Cruciatus Curse. He'd never been literally paralysed with fear, but he was now, even knowing he would die if he didn't move. But he couldn't make his body stir. He just squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for death.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light spilled against Harry's closed eyelids, hissing off the walls. Harry had died before, and knew that Voldemort had been right in the end - it hadn't hurt at all. It didn't hurt this time either, only that, unlike before, Harry had no protection left. This would be the end. Then something hit the floor with a thud, and he realised he was alive enough to open his eyes.

Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, alone, Harry's wand in hand. He was staring from the toppled form of Rodolphus on the ground to Harry with an expression of impatient distaste.

"You-" Harry started, before his voice broke and stuttered. "Thank you."

He barely managed to look at Rodolphus, whose lanky black hair obscured his face, but Malfoy had no such compulsions. He went down on one knee, grabbing Lestrange's wand where it had fallen from his fingers, and searched through the pockets of his robe. Whatever he'd hoped to find, his hands came up empty.

Harry hesitated for a long moment before opening his fist and revealing the pendant he'd taken from Rabastan.

"That's what you're looking for, isn't it?" He tried not to squint too obviously at his wand in Lucius's grip.

"The portkey." Lucius's voice sounded harsh, hungry, and the tone sent shivers down Harry's back. There was a warmth in his belly that shouldn't have been there, not now, not with this man.

"Ron and your wife? They're all right?" Harry's stomach fluttered with nerves. His hand went up to the ribbon around his throat.

"I hope so," Lucius replied.

"Well, go find them, then!" Harry growled when Lucius made no move, and dropped the pendant in his hand. The temptation to use it to rescue Ron himself was almost overwhelming, but he'd never encountered this sort of Fidelius magic before, much less tried to break it. "I'll get Draco."

He didn't mention Ron's name again, and neither did Lucius, but his spectre stood between them just as clearly as Harry knew that his own slim chance of escape would die with Draco.

Still, he held the man's eyes, and whatever the former Death Eater saw in him, other than a battered young man too exhausted to stand upright, it seemed to convince him.

Lucius raised Rodolphus's wand to the pendant, then paused, and turned. Green light spilled forth once more, although the words of the curse were uttered very softly. Harry jumped and flinched so hard his elbow scraped the wall. Calmly, Lucius lowered his wand and turned away from Rabastan's body, now safely beyond unconscious.

"What- why?" Harry gasped.

"I'm not in the habit of leaving live enemies in my back. Or witnesses." Lucius eyed Harry with a cocked head. "Did you want him to survive?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut. Suddenly, it was colder than before.

Nodding lightly as if he'd received a reply, Lucius turned the token over on his palm, tapped it with the wand, and vanished like a ghost.

One hand pressed to his chest to calm his frantic heartbeat, Harry stumbled out into the corridor, not once looking back at the bodies behind him. He padded the familiar path to Greyback's bedroom which he'd been dragged along far too many times. In front of the door, Harry paused, shivered. Gripped the wand hard, aware of how alien it felt - harder, more slender, silkier than his own.

He pushed down the handle, toed the door open a bit and peered inside. The heat hit him like a fist. Fenrir's room, unlike Rodolphus's, was always hot as Draco dwelled there, naked. Now, there was Draco's familiar form on the bed, alone, hair tangled over his face. His cheeks and lips looked flushed. As if drawn in by Draco's face, Harry stepped across the threshold. Draco's eyes did not quite meet his, though. They were aimed to the side, to Harry's right-

That was when the door slammed into him, hitting Harry's head and shoulder and sending him reeling.

Stupid, stupid! he screamed at himself as a muscular arm shot out from where Greyback had been hiding behind the door. He felt it grip his hair, hurling him forward until Harry shrieked in pain while the wand was torn from his grip. It fell several feet away on the floor, while Greyback pulled Harry against his chest.

"I could smell you," Greyback hissed in his ear, pressing up against Harry's back until Harry could feel a substantial erection poking him. "Your fear... your blood." He ran calloused fingers down Harry's stomach to his thighs, prodding the welts he encountered. "Could smell Lucius all over you."

Draco let out a hitched little sob as Greyback wrapped his arm around Harry's throat, slowly, giving him time to feel the muscles tighten. Cold sweat ran down Harry's spine, stinging the sores Lucius's crop and cane had left there.

"Well, Potter, it was fun while it lasted."

Fenrir's arm tightened around Harry's throat, squeezing like before, only that this time it was no game - this time, Greyback would not stop. Harry twisted in the crushing grip, his heels kicking at the werewolf's knees, nails gauging into Greyback's arm, but the grip did not loosen. Instead, Greyback pressed harder, almost crushing Harry's solar plexus. A singeing pain ran up from Harry's neckbone to chin.

A sound, dulled to a whine through the blood pounding in his ears, and then Greyback stumbled, swaying backwards.

Harry could hear the werewolf roaring and brought his heel down on his foot with all the force he could muster. He heard the crack of bone, another muffled roar, and this time he managed to force Greyback's arm away from his throat. His neck ached viciously, but still he managed to scramble away.

Somehow, Draco had retrieved the belt Greyback had been so fond of using on them, and had looped it around the werewolf's neck from behind. Now, he was pulling at it with inhuman strength, one knee pressed into Greyback's back for leverage. Blond strands whipped his face, which was pink with exertion. A mad light shone in his eyes.

Greyback threw himself backwards, intending to crush his smaller opponent with his body weight, but Malfoy slithered away, letting go of the belt as he did. Fenrir tore it from his neck. He was reaching for Draco when Harry barrelled into him with all his might, knocking the werewolf back onto the bed. Malfoy dove to the floor, out of reach of the claws.

One of Greyback's flailing arms caught the side of Harry's head. He saw stars for a moment, and fell sideways. Greyback's bulk rose from the bed, looming over him, and the towering rage on his face had Harry cowering in primal terror.

Then Malfoy surged up from the floor, grasping the wand Harry had dropped. There was no spell. Greyback reached for Harry, grabbing him by the throat while the wand shuddered, morphed until it was a shiny blade in Draco's hand. Greyback screamed when it caught him in the side. He dropped Harry like a hot potato, eyes wide with disbelief. Even when the knife was yanked out and Malfoy stabbed him again low in the stomach, he seemed unable to fathom the change that had come over his cringing 'pet'.

Harry scrambled backwards to get out of reach, one hand clasped over his burning throat, frantically searching for a weapon to come to Draco's aid. He didn't need to. Two vicious slashes turned the werewolf's face into a bloodied mask. Greyback howled, raising both hands to cover his blinded eyes while Draco hacked at his chest and throat until the man's bulk toppled backwards, turning to shield his face and stomach against the mattress.

Draco stabbed the knife into his back until even the small moves of Greyback's legs stopped, and then just struck again and again, neck, buttocks, thighs, until all that was left was a bloody mass.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled hoarsely, pulling on Draco's arm. Then, "Draco!" when neither words nor force served to drag Malfoy off his victim. There was blood smeared over his hands up to the elbow, and red drops dotted his chest and chin. More soaked slowly into the mattress, a spreading black stain.

At pains not to be nicked himself, Harry wrestled the knife from Draco's fingers and watched it return to its original wand shape. He pulled Malfoy away from Greyback's corpse and drew the trembling, seething body into his arms.

"It's all right," he whispered, trying not to gag when the smell of blood and the full reality of what they'd done hit him. "He's dead. It's over."

Malfoy's hectic breaths turned watery until they were almost sobs, and Harry feared he'd break down or become hysterical. He stroked Draco's cheek and placed a kiss on the crown of the blond head, feeling utterly out of his depth.

Then Draco's head jerked up and a bit of clarity returned to the wild eyes. "My mother! God, Potter, I-"

"It's all right," Harry repeated quickly. "Lu- your father is getting her. It'll be fine."

"My father." Malfoy shivered, causing Harry to tighten his arms around the slight body once more. Then he pushed him back gently.

"Can you get up? We need to get out of here."

After a long moment, Malfoy stood on wobbly legs, and nodded.

Leaving Draco to himself for a moment, Harry darted to the corner of the room where Fenrir had kicked his trousers a few weeks before. Thankfully, the werewolf had been a miserable housekeeper. He pulled them on, hissing when the fabric rubbed over the welts on his back and thighs, but almost in tears afterwards at the feeling of being dressed after so long.

He wished he had something to cover Draco with as well, but there wasn't even a sheet over the bloodstained mattress. The teeth-marked gloves were useless, and Harry was definitely not going near Fenrir's bloody trousers. Instead, he gripped his wand tightly, turned his back on the body and took Draco's hand, pulling him towards the door.

They made it out into the dim corridor, past the cupboard under the stairs that had been Harry's prison for so long. Harry steered Draco towards the kitchen rather than the dining room with its bodies. When he heard a cloak rustle, he whipped around, wand raised and stepping in front of Draco. He only lowered it a fraction when Lucius Malfoy appeared at the foot of the stairs. Then Harry almost dropped it at the sight of the red head behind him.

"Ron!"

Relief hit him so hard that he felt his face scrunching up and tears burning in his eyes. Ron looked unharmed, although his face was so pale that his freckles stood out like bruises. His lips were swollen. His mouth split into a grin when he saw Harry, but then he stepped back to let a slight figure precede him.

Seeing Narcissa Malfoy was not quite as much of a relief as seeing Ron, but something loosened inside Harry's chest, for Draco's sake.

Both her and Ron wore identical plain black robes. Narcissa's was drowning her slender figure and trailing behind her bare feet, Ron's barely reached his ankles. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know whose closet they'd been raiding, or why. Narcissa looked wild, with a cloud of moon-coloured hair tousled against the black of the robe, her fingers clenching as if she was trying to conjure a wand to her hand by sheer force of will. Then she glanced over Harry's shoulder, saw Draco, and practically flew over to kneel beside him.

Draco let out a little sob, averting his face and almost recoiling before he let her draw him into her arms and rested an exhausted head on her shoulder. Lucius handed her a black bundle which turned out to be another identical robe without quite trying to step closer. Narcissa spread the cloth around Draco's shoulders, trying to smooth down his hair. Harry caught Lucius's expression as his eyes alighted on Draco's head, and quickly looked away.

Gingerly, Ron put his hands on Harry's shoulders as if to embrace him, then seemed to decide against it. "Holy heck - you look like hell, mate!"

Ron's gesture and words brought back a multitude of aches. Harry's knees wobbled for a second, and he had to steady himself on Ron's arm. Ron embraced him for a moment after all.

"How are you."

A wry grin split Harry's cracked lips. "Never better."

With a frown, Ron held him at arms length, looking him over. Harry's gaze wandered back to Malfoy, still looking down at his wife and son from a distance. "It's not as bad as it looks." It was the truth, after all.

He freed himself gently, then steeled himself to take the few steps over to Lucius.

The man acknowledged him with a curt nod, lips pressed together in a way that made his chin seem even more pointed.

"The house is Sealed," he said without preamble. "I know the spell to break the Seal, but I will not exchange one prison for another."

"You're not wanted. Not really," Harry amended, blinking rapidly a few times. Exhaustion crept up on him now that the adrenaline had run its course, and he didn't want to faint at Lucius's feet. "You're still not wanted," he added at the sharp look Lucius ran over him. "But I'd still disappear for a while if I were you."

"I am planning to take my wife and son to the continent," Lucius stated as if Harry had nothing at all to do with it. "We have relatives there, and a change of scenery will help Draco... recover."

"Yeah, that'd be good." Draco had quite a bit of recovering ahead of him, Harry gathered. He and Narcissa had made it up from the floor, but Draco still stood with his head bowed, a curtain of blond hair obscuring his face while his bloody hands tried to hide in the overlong sleeves of his borrowed robe. He reeked of Fenrir, and death.

As for Harry, a few hundred miles of sea and land between Lucius and himself were the absolute minimum of what he'd need to feel safe again. Even now, the sight and presence of the man brought back the sensation of heat, peace and contentment he'd experienced under Lucius's whip at the very end.

What he'd feared and fought in Rabastan for weeks, the temptation to just let go, sign his mind and body over to another to do with as they pleased - to gain peace in surrender - Malfoy had just come by and taken. Granted, it had been what Harry had needed at the time; in the long run, it had most likely saved his life, and Ron's, and perhaps Draco's and Narcissa's as well.

But he'd broken, and Lucius had done it, had watched it and seen it for what it was. Deep, deep down, it had called to something Harry craved for. There was no telling, of course, whether one or two months in the hands of the Death Eaters had done it or whether it had always been there, but Harry needed Malfoy - both Malfoys, really - as far out of the way as possible, before Lucius decided to come back for him and try his luck once more, and Harry wound up kneeling at his heels against his best interest.

No - Malfoy would take his little gang across the Channel and Harry would return Ron to Hermione and himself to the ordinary, domestic life he'd planned with Ginny. He would learn to come to grips with his instincts during full moons and he'd try very hard to put the past weeks behind him. It could have been worse, after all - this time, no one ended up dead because of him. His gaze caught at Draco's clenched fists. He shivered. No one who mattered.

He nodded at Lucius. "Unseal the house - after that, you're free to go wherever you want."

A tiny frown appeared on Ron's forehead, but Harry shook his head at him. Ron shrugged.

Lucius raised the pendant token again, not smooth and round any longer, but blackened and half-molten as if it had lain in fire. Touching Rabastan's wand to it once more, he uttered a long phrase that sounded more Greek than Latin to Harry's ears. The token glowed, rolling in on itself and liquefying into metallic tears that dripped down and left silver stains on the carpet.

If anything, the hallway turned even darker as the grey nothingness that had once shrouded the house disappeared. But then it was night. Through the open door to the dining room, Harry could see a trickle of light outside the windows, despite the dark curtains - a streetlamp. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of that shy little twinkle, a little gleam of normality in all the madness. Exhaustion started to tear at his limbs again, and he had to steady himself against the wall.

"Go," he told Lucius, his voice shaking.

Ron took a step closer, prepared to steady Harry should he stumble. But then he paused, hesitantly watching as Narcissa helped Draco to the door, one arm around her son's waist for support. They exchanged a look over Draco's drooping head, full of something Harry knew he would never, ever ask about unless Ron came out to tell him on his own accord. Then Harry saw his best friend, who had never shown the slightest penchant for formality, bow his head. Narcissa did not smile, but she inclined her head in response.

"Good-bye, Ronald."

She pushed the door open. Outside lay a real Muggle street instead of grey fog, with quiet, red-brick houses, and trees in front gardens and more streetlamps, all achingly ordinary.

Harry watched the two blond heads disappear down the front steps, and rested his head against the wall he was leaning on.

"Go," he whispered again. It must have sounded weaker than he thought, for Ron was putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lucius. Instead, he ducked his head, like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. He could hear the man's footsteps as he passed him.

"Good-bye, Potter."

Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut, his head floating with exhaustion and emotions, until the steps grew faint and he was certain Malfoy had gone.

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron's voice sounded behind him, tense and scared.

Harry sucked in a deep breath, and forced his eyes open. Steadied himself. "I will be," he promised them both. "I will be."