Some Recovery is Due
You can find more of this on by SubscribeStar (dot adult slash KajaWilder), it’s posted past FwB2 Ch. 30 there. You can find the same on my new Patreon (via Discord per their ToS), under /WildErotica. The DISCORD is at https://discord.gg/N9yDASt6Cw . If you prefer direct links, go to my Discord and follow the ‘links in general’ section to find the ones you want. All of my fics are well ahead of what I post here, often 10-30 chapters ahead.
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Enjoy!
Trigger Warning notice! This chapter, like several of the next few, deal with the aftermath of what are basically PoW's treated as sex-slaves. It isn't pretty. But the harm is over with, for now, for what that's worth.
Chap. 18: Some Recovery is Due
Harry slumped tiredly against the cool stone wall, his forehead shining with half-dried sweat, which also drenched his armpits. Carrying the women out hadn't been all that much work for Harry personally. Magic had helped of course, but that had also been the task of the Order of the Phoenix who had come down into the basement. The women had been checked for pressing medical needs first, which had definitely saved one life: a woman in the fourth cell had three broken ribs from a recent punch, which had punctured a lung in several places.
Then they had been checked for traps, enchantments that had been laid on them to kill anyone who touched them, for example. Finally, Obliviations. None of their memories had yet been tampered with by the Order, though he knew many or all of the women would, at least, have the offer made to erase what had happened during their time in the Death Eater's extremely dubious 'care'. Lilith, too, had been put to use helping to stabilize conflicting, raging emotions in each of the rescued captives, for which she had been very grateful.
It's nice to be able to help, instead of just fight. I don't mind fighting and killing when necessary, of course, much like you, Master, but this... helping them actually feels good.
He had known exactly what she was talking about. It hurt, what he, Kingsley, and Moody were doing... but it was necessary, and it would help.
Finally, single or in pairs, the unconscious women had been taken elsewhere. Split up, Harry was sure, between either various safe-houses, or St. Mungo's, or Hogwarts' own infirmary, perhaps, to get whatever care the Order or their families, those that still had them, could arrange.
Ten minutes ago, one of the Order members he didn't know, a witch of middle age and a somewhat sallow, wasted look about her, had complained, "St. Mungo's knows what we're doing, but they say they 'aven't got any more room. What're we suppose' to do with all of 'em, then? Drop 'em off at a Muggle 'hospital? They won' have any idea! No idea at all 'ow to help with... this."
Sadly true, Harry knew. Certainly the Muggle hospitals and police officers could handle a rape victim, even one who'd been captive for months or a year or more. But two dozen of them, and all afflicted with some sort of compulsion and magical training that seemed similar to the Imperius Curse, but wasn't? Some conditioning? No... they would have a hard time with that indeed. It would be, in many ways, like the Muggle Psychiatrists who'd been trying to treat Romilda, only worse.
"Take the rest to The Crockery," he croaked, his voice dry from... he didn't know what. Yelling during the battle, probably. Crying. There were still tears running down his face, from what he had seen. Why? He was still a teenage boy, wasn't he?
He wasn't supposed to cry. He was tough.
A Gryffindor.
... He had been second-hand witness from the first-hand point of view the victim of hundreds of rapes, over the last half hour and then some. He had reason to cry, damn it, and he wasn't going to let a little teenage boyish pride keep him from venting his emotions.
Lilith, Hermione, and more importantly Ginny would have his hide for thinking like that, though, after all the work each of them, and himself, had put in to helping Harry not think like a 'typical boy'. Showing emotion was not weakness, it was strength. Truly mastering oneself, one's emotions, did not come from locking them away and hiding them. It came from being aware, letting them out when needed, and guiding and shaping them to where they were most beneficial. Using them, not being used by them.
So he let the tears fall.
Around him, Harry saw the Order members, Ron included, moved about muttering dozens of spells, many of which Ron had been taught moments before, collecting forensic evidence, or its equivalent, for the Aurors and D.M.L.E. Not that this operation was official, of course, and neither Mad-Eye, Kingsley, or any of the other three Aurors could be seen submitting the evidence, or be the ones the evidence was submitted to.
But it wasn't like the Auror Office didn't understand, and appreciate their help. Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Minister now that Fudge had been sacked, would appreciate their efforts even if they were 'vigilante', as he'd been an Auror himself and knew just how valuable the Order could be. Even if he wished, according to Kingsley, to get 'too close' to Harry for his own reasons.
So they worked semi-officially, and Harry was finally given a chance to breathe, and reflect. He had been so excited two hours (was it really just two hours?) earlier. Glad to be doing something, alongside the Order. Helping his friends, his family, survive.
That had lasted right up until the battle had actually begun. Crouching down, Disillusioned, beneath the hedgerows that had once probably been beautiful and were now scraggly and unkempt where they weren't missing, next to Kingsley and Sirius, Harry had been filled with excited, nervous anticipation.
The battle had been harrowing, but as it had gone on, he had been both impressed with the skill on display from his friends and allies, their determination, like him, to do what was right even if it put themselves at risk. And he had... had... enjoyed it. The thrill of it, the risk, the danger. When the dragon had shown up, he had actually laughed. Was he mad?
Probably.
But he'd still been enjoying it. Even leading the impromptu flanking attack had been amazing.
The aftermath, though... it had been exhausting, terrifying in entirely new and unanticipated ways. He didn't feel personally victimized, of course. Harry had known with every memory he'd been forced to see that it wasn't him being taken again and again. But Iris had been watching too, and she had felt that. Echoes of it came through whatever distance there was between them, and affected him too. Had his extra-planar almost-sister-self, or whatever they were to each other, been a victim too?
The thought made his blood boil, even more than it did for the twenty-two women and six men they had rescued. Iris, he knew, personally. She'd been in his head, in his body, and now, he in hers. These women, aside from those he'd personally looked through the memories of, were basically strangers. He still empathized, wished they hadn't had to suffer, wanted to take that pain away... but they were muted and weak compared to what he felt about Iris possibly being a victim of the same thing.
Kennedy Teasdale... she had been just a Muggle college student out at a bar for the weekend with her mates, when she'd been taken. The others, at least, were witches. She'd had no chance to fight back, she'd been Imperiused before she had known there was a threat. Her, he felt for the most. But her friends were either still with the Death Eaters, dead, or Obliviated of any record of the event, maybe even of her existence. Her memories of that moment were fuzzy thanks to the Imperius, so Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought it was a mix of all three.
Did she have family?
Would they have any idea how to help?
Could they even be found?
Harry sighed and pushed himself away from the wall.
He'd needed the rest, but now it was time to act. "Take them to my house," Harry repeated, louder, "Take all the extras, all the ones St. Mungo's doesn't have 'room' for, and put them in the downstairs bedrooms for now. And get me Sirius. The Floo Address is The Crockery. I'll need to go soon to let people in."
"Alright, Harry," Ron, who had been passing by down the corridor with one of the last rescues being levitated in front of him, "I'll pass it on. Er... Moody wants a word, when you can. He's just down at the end, there."
Harry nodded at his best friend's thumb gesture, "I'll go now, thanks, Ron. Can you check on Hermione for me? I haven't sensed anything from her for a while. She was asleep last I checked, and I didn't want to wake her if she can feel it."
Ron snorted, "Brilliant and scary, that one, like I keep saying. She's awake now, already fed up with being fussed over by Aunt Muriel. And tired of being lectured about using Fiendfyre too, I expect. She's alright, Harry. You can go, we'll keep each other safe. I'll keep her safe."
"Alright, thanks, Ron," Harry smiled softly, glad his best friend could still read him so well despite feeling like he was a very different person than just a few hours ago.
Ron only shrugged, "She's my friend, too, you know. Even if I... if we've, er... drifted, a bit, of late. I'll always care."
"I know. Go on, go on. And you should stop by in the next couple of days too, if your Mum will let you out of her sight after going on your first exciting mission."
"She probably won't until the school year starts," Ron laughed, "and maybe not even then. Alright, Harry. You- you can reach out too, you know. If you need to talk."
"I know," Harry replied, smiling, "I know. But I'm... doing alright, I think. Still a bit early to say for sure. See you later, Ron."
He found Moody and Filius Flitwick, of all people, staring at the blank wall at the end of the dungeon corridor a dozen feet to his left as Harry stepped from the last cell he'd been in. "It seems to definitely be linked to Parseltongue," the diminutive Charms Professor murmured as he approached, "So Mr. Potter may well be needed. I can't open it, at any rate, not with any Charm or spell I know."
"Me either," Moody grumbled, "I can see through it, but... I can't see anything with definition. There's a small chamber, maybe a bedroom, but that's about it. Large closet, even. Oh, Potter, finally decided to get back with it, eh? Come here."
Harry rolled his eyes, "If taking a five minute break after all that is 'finally', sure, Mad-Eye. I'm not a machine, you know."
"Too right," Flitwick squeaked, "Mr. Potter is still a young man, Alastor. He's not had to deal with the experiences you have- for the most part."
Mad-Eye himself grinned, "Actually, I don't mind him taking a bit to compose himself a bit. I took a few myself, and you know it, Filius. I'm more impressed with Potter than anything... but a bit of good-natured ribbing helps, believe me. It's a bit of distraction, if nothing else. How you holding up, Potter?"
Harry shrugged, and forced himself to meet Moody's mismatched gaze squarely, "As good as can be expected, I suppose. You know what I was seeing, so... you can imagine. But I'll be alright."
Moody watched him for a few seconds, meeting Harry's gaze with cool examination himself, then grinned in his lopsided, scarred way, "Right, then. I'll take your word for it. Don't hesitate to reach out, though, like if you get nightmares or something. No shame in it, I learned that lesson the hard way. Like your friends, we're here for you, too, all of us. At any rate, what's off about this wall, eh?"
Harry looked at it for a few seconds, easily making out several chaotic scratches, as if something had been digging at it with their nails or maybe a small file, but he couldn't see anything at first glance. "I know you said something about Parseltongue, and there being a room behind it, but not being able to see what's inside."
"Right, just the general shape. Fifteen by fifteen, ten foot ceiling. Might be interior walls, but the space isn't that large. Everything inside is fuzzy to this," Moody answered, tapping his temple, "but I don't know why. It's not the same spell that blocked the rest of the basement. Knowing there's two ways to hide things is worrisome, though probably just to me. No one's yet found a way to hide things from me until whatever Voldemort put on the basement, and now this room. Only now they know two, so it'll be even harder to find them wherever they've gone to ground now."
Harry nodded, still frowning thoughtfully at the wall. There was definitely something there, niggling at the edge of his thoughts, but he couldn't...
"Reach out with your other senses, Mr. Potter," Flitwick told him softly, running his wrinkled, long-nailed hand along the stonework, "touch it if you must- not that stone, we're reasonably sure that one is cursed with some kind of harmful effect. The rest are safe, we believe. But you should be advanced enough now to sense at least some magicks... and what you have done recently with your Succubus-granted Empathic abilities will only help, I think."
Harry nodded once more, and let his eyes drift closed as his left hand came out, palm forward and fingers spread slightly. He didn't quite touch the wall, but as he relaxed and fell into the same sort of semi-aware state he found it easiest to trace the threads of connection he felt to his growing family and friends, he felt a strange...
Tingle?
No, not quite that, but something similar. Warm, but also cold. Hot and wet, but also like dry ice? Non-tangible, but something he could still... feel. Almost like the way his hair would sometimes stand on end if he was near a high-capacity power line out in the countryside, only localized to right around the wall...
Open, he hissed in Parseltongue.
Nothing happened.
Moody and Flitwick were both looking at him curiously when Harry opened his eyes. He shrugged, "It's one of the easiest words I know. Opened the Chamber of Secrets... hold on, let me try a few more things."
This time, he forced his mind to focus on the scratches, which, yes, were uneven, but not, as he stared longer, actually chaotic. There was a pattern. Something twisting, curving... almost serpent-like. Yes, that would be enough.
Words began to flow from him in hisses and strange, sibilant sounds as he tried one word or phrase after another. For fifteen more minutes, Harry imagined the scratches as an actual serpent, which helped him speak the strange language, before something happened.
A click.
Soft, quiet... but followed by a louder rumble as the stones began to fold in on themselves, one after the other, to reveal a wide, tall archway almost as large as the end of the hallway itself.
"You've done it, Potter," Moody grunted happily, "Now... oh. Oh, that's not good. Get back! Protego Maxima! Protego Horribilis!"
Harry's wand joined the grizzled ex-Auror, and his Professor's did too. Between them, seven, eight, eleven barriers sprung up in just a few seconds, as what looked like nothing so much as a hungry void, all empty space, complete and total darkness in writhing tendrils, lashed out toward them from the center of the room.
Harry's knees buckled at the first onslaught, one of his three shields shattered in a moment at the first blow. He kept casting, ignoring Moody's orders to get behind him, and stayed next to the older wizards, his magic flowing freely even though he was growing increasingly tired. This trap would not best him. It would not! It would certainly not best all three of them!
He could feel the empty, cloying, clawing hunger of it, though. The same sort of almost malevolent energies that drove the horrible spell Hermione had used on the surface seemed to shape the black emptiness in the room ahead of them, as if it were some alien entity of anti-matter, the ultimate end of all existence, coming after them, personally.
Spells were battered, shields shattered and recast, but they did not give so much as an inch.
Then, it was gone. With a great wind, whooshing past their ears from behind, paper and dust flew, their hair was yanked forward, and whatever it was whirled and vanished, gone.
Behind it, the room was untouched. A bedroom, in fact, with a comfortable, modest bed, a standing closet, a wardrobe next to that with drawers too, a desk that had likely once been piled with books and scrolls, and a comfortable chair, on which sat a woman with blonde hair streaked with fluids that hung down to her waist.
She was naked, bruised, battered, seemingly unconscious, but breathing as she sat on the desk chair.
"Narcissa Malfoy," Moody grunted. "Huh. That's another trap if I've ever seen one... also, both of you are terrible at following instructions, but thank you. Not sure I could've held that spell back myself. Come on, Potter, Filius... keep your wands up. Don't know if she's rigged to explode or something, yet..."
Narcissa Malfoy was clean of traps, a fact that surprised Harry a great deal. There were, of course, spells and enchantments on the woman, but nothing new, and nothing harmful. Spells to keep her looking relatively youthful despite being in her mid-fifties, but nothing that even Mad-Eye's paranoia (which Harry was honestly beginning to doubt was actually paranoia, given how effective he'd been today at predicting things before they happened, and how the Death Eaters would react).
She was not clean. In fact, Mrs. Malfoy was dirtier and more covered in dried fluids than even the prisoners they had just rescued. Before waking her from her Stunned state, Moody had allowed Flitwick to clean her with some simple hygiene charms and then cover her with a robe he had Conjured. The woman was not, however, allowed to get up off the chair. In fact, the ex-Auror applied three more sticking charms, including one he said was of his own devising, to keep her there before he pointed his wand at Narcissa and incanted, "Ennervate."
Flitwick had been asked to leave, but he'd been replaced by Kingsley. Harry hadn't even been asked, so he was still there to watch alongside the two Aurors, one active and one not, as the mother of his schoolyard rival jerked, groaned, and stirred. "Ah, what... I... where...- A- Alastor Moody? Is... I don't know you... and Harry Potter? What are you- what are you doing in my... where am I?"
"Narcissa Aquila Malfoy, formerly Black, you are under arrest by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Greater British Isles. Anything you say may be held against you in our courts, and it may also be used to assist in defending you, should your testimony prove helpful in the capture of the followers of the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. Do you understand?"
The woman shivered, blinked, then looked down at herself, covered at least, then back up at Kingsley, who'd spoken, Moody, and then Harry himself. "P- Potter...?"
He nodded.
"I... I understand," Mrs. Malfoy answered next, quietly, "May I... have some water? Just water. I'll be truthful. I've no reason to lie... not now."
Harry was the one who conjured a glass and filled it with water from his wand before passing it to the woman, over Moody's complaints about him getting too close. But Harry only glared at the older man as he helped the woman drink, "We aren't Death Eaters, Moody. There's no reason not to at least let her drink."
"Unless she's got some poison or explosive in her activated by water. You don't know that, Potter."
"You don't know that she does, either," Harry retorted, "Look, I appreciate the input... but look at her. She's clearly been through a lot. There's no reason not to show a bit of kindness, is there?"
"I..." Moody sighed, and Kingsley snorted, "He's got you there, Alastor. I always thought you were getting a bit too grumpy anyway. Lighten up, he's still alive."
"Just because it's stupid and it works, doesn't mean it's good- it just means it's stupid and he's lucky," Moody grumbled, but otherwise went still. His wand was still very much trained on the witch as Harry gave her the last bit and asked if she wanted more.
"No, thank you, Mr. Potter," Narcissa replied quietly. "I... I have one request."
"You're hardly in a position to make demands," Moody snorted.
"Please," Narcissa whimpered, "I... I'll tell you everything. I just- when I'm done- kill me. At least... at least kill what's inside me. I don't want to give birth to... to that monster's... thing."
Moody, Kingsley, and Harry shared a look of horror. "You're...," Harry asked, swallowed twice, then finished a bit quieter, "You're carrying... his child?"
Narcissa could only nod, "He... made me... left me here to taunt you... knowing you 'wouldn't hurt an innocent baby, oh, how the soft-hearted must quake and weep, knowing another little monster like me is running around...'"
"Shite," Moody swore, "That does sound like him... couldn't have a kid out of any sort of desire to actually pass himself on, no. That'd be selfish. But force someone to have his child for leverage? Shite."
"He's... lost," Narcissa whispered, "so much more insane than before. Something happened a few weeks ago. Pain... he described it as worse than the Cruciatus a hundred-fold. Locked himself up for a few days in this very room... then he did it to me. Fed me fertility potions until it felt like I'd burst, then... had his way with me again, and again, until it... took. I've been here since... only their elf came in to... take care of things. This was after the house exploded, I think... maybe before? The... time is... my head is so muddled. It's been so long since I've even seen the sun."
Harry swallowed, then looked at the two Aurors with a firm expression, "Once she's treated, bring her to my home. We need to talk, she and I. You... if you'll do it, you can help her... fuck, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I... I believe it's her right to choose. If you can help her with her request, do so first. Or after, I don't... I don't want to blame the child. I won't. But I also won't blame her for wanting not to carry it to term. He is a monster."
"Maybe," Moody grumbled, "I'll... we'll," he changed after Kinglsey coughed, "ask a few of the other older Order members for their opinions. I don't feel right making that decision myself, either. But I won't say no just out of hand. Heavens know I wouldn't want to be in your place, Mrs. Malfoy. Not at all. Alright, Potter... if you're satisfied, I'll ask you to step out while we question her. Nothing personal- you did good today. But this is actually Auror business, at this point. We'll see about your request too, if she's not locked up."
Harry nodded, "Fair enough. I'll be... home, actually, so I can let the others into the property. Our infirmary isn't set up, but there's at least supplies and beds on the lower floor. You two and Professor Flitwick will have access too, but I don't want the whole Order stomping about."
"Perfect," Kingsley smiled quietly, his own expression quite as weary as Harry felt. "For what it's worth, Harry, I think you did very well, too... even if you have as hard a time following orders as Mad-Eye says. Get going."
He smiled shakily, then turned to gather up Ron, who was standing next to Hermione and Lilith as the pair tried to coach him through returning to his normal, unarmored form in the middle of what had once been a ballroom, and was now a blackened, empty space open to the sky in three directions, and half of two more. "Let's go home," he replied, then smirked a little, "At least, as soon as Ron figures out how magic works."
"Sh- Shut up!"