Chapter One
Lucius walked quickly through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short gasps. He quickened his pace, desperation dominating every movement.
— My Lord! — he said, quickening his pace even more. — My Lord, please! — Lucius stood in front of the door, blocking the way. — I beg you.— Voldemort stopped in front of him, his gaze sharp and furious. His patience was visibly slipping away.
— Get out of my sight, Lucius. — Voldemort ordered, his voice low and full of threat. — Now.
— My Lord, please! He's just a boy! — Lucius said desperately, barely able to maintain his usually cold composure, his hands shaking and sweating.
He could only be mad to contradict his Lord like this, but he could not allow something like this to happen without at least trying to stop it.
— Lucius! Get! Out! Of! My! Way! — Lucius did not move, his knees shaking, but he remained in place, blocking the entrance with his body, despite his growing fear.
— You know you can't stop me. I always get what I want. — Voldemort hissed, his tone dangerously calm. — Don't be foolish, Lucius. Get out of the way.
Lucius swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the situation. He knew he could not win, knew it was useless to resist. He took a deep breath, gathering the last of his courage, but he did not move.
Voldemort looked him in the eye.
— Good! — he said, impatiently. With a quick movement, Voldemort grabbed his wand. — Petrificus Totalus!
Lucius's body went rigid in an instant, falling to the ground like a stone. He could not move, his muscles frozen by magic, and his eyes could only follow Voldemort's figure as it effortlessly stepped over him.
Lucius struggled against the spell, trying desperately to free himself, but it was useless. He lay on the floor, his heart heavy with helplessness, as the doors to the room opened with an ominous creak.
There was nothing more to be done.
Draco lay on his bed, letting out a tired sigh as he leaned back against the pillows and pulled the covers over his legs. He waved his hand, turning off the main lights in the room, leaving only the light from the lamp beside the bed, picking up the book left on the bed, and opening it to the marked page.
Draco began to scan the words of the fifth chapter, not really concentrating on the words, the events of the last year spinning through his head. The Triwizard Tournament was indeed an event, contrary to what he had imagined when it had been announced. And it could be said that everything became even more attractive when Saint Potter was announced as a fourth champion.
In the end, neither he nor his father had won the bet. Potter ended up winning the tournament, bringing with him the news of the Dark Lord's return. Obviously, no one believed him, including Draco. At least, not until he returned home for the summer and found Voldemort himself, in the flesh, sitting carefree on the sofa in his living room, drinking tea and eating some biscuits.
Draco didn't like this. He had been raised with purist ideas, but Voldemort was scarier in person than in the stories. His father, as a loyal Death Eater, had been given the "honour" - if Draco could call it an honour - of hosting his Lord at Malfoy Manor.
Lucius didn't seem exactly happy about it, but he obviously had no choice but to accept and welcome his Lord in the best possible way, and consequently, Draco would have to be cordial too. Unless he wanted to suffer at the hands of the scary man.
Draco couldn't explain it. It wasn't just fear that he felt towards the man, but also discomfort. Draco didn't like the way Voldemort looked at him, he had the impression that it wasn't a normal look. Those eyes made Draco feel small, intimidated, as if the Dark Lord were looking at something more in the boy.
Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, Draco sighed and lay down on his side on the bed, returning to the beginning of the chapter and forcing himself to focus on the novel. Anna Karenina. A Russian Muggle novel that Pansy had lent him to read over the holidays. His parents would be furious if they found out he was reading something made by Muggles.
Not long after, Draco began to feel his eyelids grow heavy until he could resist no longer and fell asleep, letting the book fall from his hands.
Draco fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, his entire body relaxing and sinking into the soft mattress of the large bed and snuggling into the warm, cosy covers.
It was pleasantly warm during his sleep to some extent. Suddenly, Draco felt the cool night air against his skin, something soft, wet and warm running across his jaw and neck while something rough and cold ran across his torso and waist.
Frowning and waking from his sleep in a disoriented manner, Draco opened his eyes, pushing away whatever was squeezing his waist and trying to get the wet and disgusting thing off his neck. He looked up, seeing a bizarrely pale, even grey face.
— Looks like someone's awake. — Voldemort said with a smile. Draco's eyes widened, his breathing becoming uneven and his heart skipping a beat before racing wildly.
— M... My Lord...? — he asked reluctantly, his voice shaking and a lump forming in his throat.
— Come on, Draco, be a faithful servant, — the hand returned to his waist — just like your father, — the other hand held one of his thighs, spreading his legs — and don't fight it.
With Voldemort between his legs, Draco noticed that his pajama pants and boxer shorts were thrown on the floor next to the bed, as were Voldemort's underwear.
Tears filled Draco's eyes as he understood what was happening. He looked down when he felt Voldemort position himself.
— My Lord…! — Draco grabbed Voldemort's shoulders tightly, trying to push him away. — My Lord, please! — Draco tried to put one of his legs between him and the Dark Lord, trying to keep his distance. — Please! I don't want to! Please! — tears were already streaming down his face, desperation making it harder to breathe, his body shaking with disgust and rejection of the touches.
— Draco, my dear, I'm not asking if you want to or not. — Voldemort grabbed Draco's thin wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. He approached the boy's face, staring into his eyes flooded with tears that were streaming down his face and feeling his rapid breathing against his face. — You can choose to behave or fight. But no matter what you choose, I always get what I want. The difference is that one way is easier, faster and less painful, and the other is not. If you don't want to, I can just use a Cruciatus until you agree or simply an Imperius. — Voldemort smiled satisfied with the fear and despair growing in the boy's eyes. — Want some advice? Just accept it and relax. The less you fight and the more relaxed you are, the better it will be for you.
Draco tried with all his might to hold back the sobs that were trying to break through his throat. Why was this happening? Wasn't there anyone else!? Draco knows that many of the Death Eaters would even offer to satisfy their Lord! Draco didn't want it! He didn't want that! He didn't want to have sex with Voldemort!
— Is this your first time?
Draco stared into the Dark Lord's eyes. Was there a right and a wrong answer? What a stupid question. There is always a right answer. But what was the right answer? Did Voldemort want a virgin boy? Still unused? Did he want to be Draco's first? If so, would he leave him alone if he said it wasn't his first time? Or would she get angry and punish him for not keeping himself to himself?
That really wouldn't be his first time. He had had sex with a few people during the last year. Boys and girls. He had become quite popular in this requirement, among both genders. He had tried everything, including being the bottom. He was no longer an untouched, immaculate boy.
Draco shook his head. Maybe if Voldemort knew he was no longer completely pure, he would leave him alone.
Oh, how stupid Draco had been. Silly. Innocent.
Voldemort didn't back down, he left his room and left him alone. Quite the contrary, he gave an amused smile, a laugh escaping his lips and a glint of amusement appearing in his eyes.
— Oh, so we have a naughty boy here. So young. That's adorable. How old are you again? Fifteen? — Draco swallowed his tears, nodding slowly. — I like the younger ones. Less experienced. How many times have you done this? — Draco was silent, tears streaming down his face again. — Well, I imagine not often, considering your age, but I wouldn't be surprised if you told me otherwise. You're a handsome boy, attractive and... — Voldemort looked down at Draco's private parts, letting out an amused breath. — Well, you could say you have your gifts. — the hand on Draco's thigh ran down his body to his penis. — I wonder how much more it can grow. — Voldemort began to caress Draco.
The blond tried to pull away, squirming and using his legs to try to get Voldemort off of him.
— No… — Draco turned his head, closing his eyes tightly, feeling his penis start to get hard.
What the fuck. Draco didn't want this, it wasn't pleasurable or even good, but his body was betraying him, responding to the Dark Lord's touches.
— Looks like someone is enjoying it. — Voldemort said with a sick smile.
— No… — Draco cried, a sob leaving his mouth.
— No? But that’s not what it looks like to me. Look at you; getting turned on for me. Can I make you cum? — Voldemort increased the speed of his hand.
Draco tried not to pay attention to it. He tried not to focus on the hand stimulating him. He didn’t want to cum, didn’t want to give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of it, but when he felt that familiar tingle in his lower abdomen, he knew there was nothing more to be done. Draco came in Voldemort’s hand and in his own stomach, letting out a groan in his throat and starting to sob right after.
He couldn’t believe he came for that man.
It wasn’t good. It wasn’t an orgasm, just an ejaculation. It didn’t have all that magic, the wonderful sensations and ecstasy of when he had an orgasm. It was just semen, no good feelings, just shame and guilt settling in his stomach.
— It seems that someone is not completely against it. — Voldemort used Draco's ejaculation to lubricate his own penis, positioning himself.
Draco opened his eyes and looked between his legs. There was nothing else to be done. This would happen whether he wanted it or not. All that was left for him to do was relax as much as possible so that it would be as uncomfortable as possible.
Draco laid his head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling and breathing as slowly as his crying would allow, trying to concentrate on letting his muscles relax. The hand that held his wrist went to his waist again, holding him in place as Voldemort began to enter.
Draco was managing to control himself until he felt the head enter. It hurt. He remembered his first time as a bottom. The boy he had been with was a sixth-year Ravenclaw, who had been patient and careful. There had been discomfort at first, but it hadn't been like it was now. Draco felt discomfort, but not pain, not that burning.
That made his breathing irregular again. He tried to control himself again, tried to hold back the loud cry coming out of his throat, but it was impossible.
— No. — Draco tried to push Voldemort away by his shoulders only to receive a deep and strong thrust that made him groan in pain and more tears roll down his face. — No! NO! NO! GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT! — Draco struggled with all his strength, trying to get away in any way, no longer caring about the consequences of his actions.
It wasn't working. It seemed that Voldemort had used some spell that caused muscle weakness since Draco felt like he wouldn't even be able to lift a glass of water.
There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way! He saw over Voldemort's shoulder that the door to his room and the adjacent break room were open, giving full access to the corridor. Someone had to hear his screams. His parents had to hear something.
His parents.
Where were they? Did they know about this!? They were letting Voldemort do this to him!?
No! No, his parents wouldn't do this! They were loyal servants, but they loved Draco! They wouldn't let something like this happen!
— MOM! DAD! — he began to scream desperately, still struggling and trying to get free, feeling the thrusts become deeper and more painful. — DAD! DADDY! — Draco used all his strength to scream as loud as possible.
— Your father won't come, Draco. And neither will your mother. — Voldemort said laughing. — Your father defied me. He'll get his punishment as soon as I'm done here.
Draco stared at Voldemort in true terror. Why wouldn't his parents come? Had they really allowed this!?
No!
Voldemort said his father had defied him. That means Lucius was against it, right?
— No! — Draco started to struggle again. — DAD! DAD, PLEASE! — he looked at the bedroom door again, this time from a different angle. He saw his father lying on the floor, his limbs spread out and his head turned towards Draco's bed, being able to see everything that was happening.
Draco looked away from his father, too embarrassed. His father had seen him get hard for Voldemort, cum for him, and now he was watching his Lord fuck him.
Draco felt a sudden urge to die. At that moment, Voldemort getting angry with him and casting Avada Kedavra on him wasn't a bad idea at all.
There really was nothing to do. His parents couldn't do anything and Draco didn't have the strength or his wand nearby to get out of that situation.
Draco gave up. He just lay down on his bed and let the Dark Lord use him however he wanted. He allowed himself to cry freely now, the physical pain of being penetrated and the emotional pain of the whole situation overwhelming him completely, and could only be released in the form of tears, sobs and a few screams and moans of agony.
Draco doesn't know how long he stayed in that situation, being penetrated and crying like a child, praying to Merlin or any other entity to help him and make it stop.
Was this a punishment? Was he being punished for being a jerk to everyone? For making fun of Muggle-borns? Those less fortunate than him? That was it, wasn't it? This was his punishment for thinking he was better, for looking down on everyone, following this purist idea and intimidating everyone, especially Potter, Weasley and Granger?
Did he deserve that?
Probably.
Draco closed his eyes, praying to whatever deity was punishing him, promising that he would no longer make fun of others, not threaten them, he would no longer think he was better than others because of his money, status and for being a pureblood. He promised to ask forgiveness from everyone he had ever negatively affected.
God, Draco just wanted it to end.
He just wanted it to be over, for him to go to sleep, forget that day and for nothing like that to ever happen again.
Draco felt something warm inside him as Voldemort tensed above him and let out a groan.
Oh, God… Merlin, Voldemort had come inside him.
Draco felt extremely sick, disgusting, dirty, filthy. He felt his stomach churn as his Lord pulled out of him. Draco couldn't hold back. Feeling the semen dripping out, he turned to the side and vomited on the floor, dirtying the edge of the mattress covered by the pure cotton sheets he liked so much.
— Oh, Draco. — Voldemort said softly. — Don't worry. — that thin hand ran through his blond hair, stroking his head. — You'll be fine. You'll see.
Voldemort got off Draco and walked slowly out of the room, letting out a satisfied sigh as he ran his hand over his hairless head.
Draco stood paralyzed, staring at his own vomit.
It was over. Everything was fine now.
He turned to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest, hugging them and staring at the wall. He could feel his stomach still churning, the Dark Lord's semen still dripping down his thighs while his own semen dried on his stomach. His entrance burned and hurt like hell. Draco slowly brought his trembling hand there, touching it and feeling a twinge of pain, removing his hand and placing it in front of his face. As he imagined, it was bleeding. He wiped his hand on the sheet, hugging the covers tighter to his chest and staring at nothing, his body shaking all over.
The guilt began to overwhelm him again. He really had come for Voldemort. But he didn't want it. He didn't like it one bit, the mere thought of it was enough to make his heart race and bile start to rise in his throat. But if he didn't like it, why did he come? Why did he even get hard? Did he want it? Did he want it deep down? No. No, he didn't want that... Well, he didn't think so. He didn't want it, but what had drawn the Dark Lord's attention to him like that? Had he, without realizing it, seduced the man in some way? Had he unconsciously wanted that and unconsciously flirted with the Dark Lord? Had he really not wanted that? It had hurt so much. It still hurt.
Draco was picked up from his bed and placed on someone tall's lap, his head against the chest covered in completely black robes, a hand running through his hair affectionately and soothingly while a male voice whispered things to him.
Draco stopped staring into space, looking up and finding his father hugging him, stroking his hair and rocking him against his own body.
Why was his father picking him up? This was embarrassing. He was already fifteen, that was no longer the age to be picked up by his father and crying into his chest. Was he crying? Why was he crying? Why was his father speaking so kindly to him? What was he saying? Draco could hear his voice, but he couldn't understand the words. Was he speaking French? Draco remembered his father speaking in French when he wanted to calm him down as a child. Why was he speaking French? Why was his father stroking his hair? When was the last time he did that? Had he ever done that in his life?
It all started to get so tiring. His eyelids started to feel so heavy. He couldn't resist the darkness taking over him. He surrendered to the unconsciousness that called to him so much.
ANOTHER FANFICTION(S):
The Phoenix Fire - Harry Potter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60382195
Ao Amanhecer - Avatar: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47670538
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