Title: No Mighty Oak
Warnings: non-con, torture, mindfuck, implied BDSM
Summary: Voldemort takes great pleasure in breaking Harry.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Wizarding World are the property of J.K. Rowling, and whomever she sold the rights to. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is made.
Author's notes: Thanks to my beta, A. :)
Harry’s shoulders hurt. Dull, throbbing pain, as if he’d flown too much while gripping the broom handle too tightly. Slowly, he took stock of himself.
His arms were bound over his head. Unconscious, he’d been sagging in the binds; now that he was awake he drew up, and immediately the pressure in his shoulders eased. His feet were spread and tied to a metal bar, preventing him from closing them. The position was all the more humiliating as he was naked.
Harry had no idea how much time had passed since he’d been captured. It had been foolish to hunt for that Horcrux on his own; yet the Order could spare no men and Harry hadn’t wanted to pull anyone from the raid that had been planned.
The opening door interrupted Harry’s reflections. Voldemort entered, followed by a floating trunk. He set it on the floor and sat down on it, his eyes sweeping up and down Harry’s naked form.
“Harry Potter,” he said with a smile in his voice.
Harry spat, the glob of saliva landing quite accurately on Voldemort’s cheek.
“Tsk. You should take care not to anger the wizard who holds you so completely to his mercy.”
Harry didn’t answer, staring at a point well over Voldemort’s shoulder. Voldemort rose and opened the trunk. His body obscured it and Harry couldn’t see what was inside.
“That one should do nicely.” Voldemort straightened and walked up to Harry until he was standing less than a foot from him. “Open your mouth.”
Harry just glared at him defiantly.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, boy. It’s nothing to me. Now, open your mouth.”
After a minute of stalemate, Voldemort sighed and pinched Harry’s nose. Harry had anticipated this, however, and he barely opened his lips while keeping his teeth closed and breathing through the interstice.
It was enough for Voldemort, who grabbed Harry’s jaw and pushed at his upper teeth until his mouth was opened wide. Harry tried to snap at Voldemort’s fingers, but he only managed to bite down on the rubber ball Voldemort had slipped in his mouth.
Before Harry could spit it out, Voldemort closed the straps tightly behind his head. Harry could feel his chapped lips cracking a little as they stretched around the gag. His bottom lip split, a drop of blood running down his chin.
Voldemort caught it with his tongue, tracing up its path. Harry tried to turn his head away — who licked blood with such obvious pleasure? He’d always been quite glad to keep blood for the battlefield rather than the bedroom, though it didn’t surprise him that the Dark Lord made no such distinctions.
Voldemort was having none of Harry’s resistance, and he caught his face between his hands, sucking as much as he could of Harry’s bottom lip, licking and kissing his way to Harry’s ear, biting it down painfully.
With a small chuckle, Voldemort stepped back and watched Harry for a few moments. Harry did his best to ignore him, but couldn’t help looking curiously when Voldemort turned to search inside his trunk again. He paled when he saw the slender object in Voldemort’s hand.
“Do you know what this is, Harry?” Voldemort trailed the leather tongue of the crop down Harry’s jaw. Harry didn’t move, but his body tensed ever so slightly. Voldemort laughed. “Yes, I can see you do.”
Abruptly, he stepped to the side and hit Harry on the tender flesh where his buttocks joined his thighs. Harry jerked involuntarily in his bonds, then forced himself to relax.
“I owe you some punishment for the disrespect you showed me. And do you know what the most delightful part will be?” He stepped up until he could whisper in Harry’s ear. “It will hurt you more than it’ll hurt me. Oh yes, so much more.”
With no other warning, he struck again. Harry quickly realised that the first stroke had been nothing more than a warm-up. He tried to regulate his breathing, to separate his mind from his body and distance himself from the pain. Unfortunately, the strikes were random and forceful, leaving no part of his body untouched, pulling him back in, making him once more aware of his surroundings.
One particularly vicious stroke landed on an already abused nipple. Harry bit down on the gag, successfully swallowing the scream that had threatened to break free. He could not stop a couple of tears from sliding down his cheeks, though, to Voldemort’s obvious delight.
Voldemort licked the tears. “Pain has never tasted so good, Harry.” Harry glared at him angrily. “Oooh,” Voldemort crowed. “You aren’t tamed in the least, are you?” The tongue of the crop slid down the crease of Harry’s arse to tap his exposed balls lightly. “I wonder what it will take to break you.” He hit harder, and Harry bucked in the restraints, his vision blacking out for a moment.
Voldemort peered at him, thoughtful. “No, not even that will do the trick. Well, there are other ways.”
He removed Harry’s ball gag. Harry swallowed, trying to moisten his dry mouth.
Bent over the trunk, not even looking at Harry, Voldemort said calmly, “Oh, I’ll be doing all the fucking around here, Harry.”
He straightened, holding a black rubber ring. Like the ball gag, it had straps attached to it. Harry looked at it suspiciously but could not bring himself to ask.
“I want you to suck me,” Voldemort said bluntly. “But I don’t trust you to keep your teeth to yourself. This is the best compromise. Of course, there are spells to the same effect, but the Muggle solution is so much more cumbersome and intrusive, for you. I like that idea.”
“You would,” Harry spat.
When Voldemort approached the ring to his mouth, Harry resisted for a few seconds, before opening his mouth reluctantly. Voldemort fitted it behind the teeth, before pulling the straps shut. Harry almost immediately discovered a new inconvenience; saliva slowly gathered in his mouth until it ran over, spilling over his bottom lip, sliding down his chin, dripping on his chest. It was maddening, not being able to wipe or stop it.
Next, Voldemort moved Harry’s binds until he was lowered to his knees. His position was precarious, his legs still spread wide by the bar. Voldemort took a long coiled rope from his trunk and started wrapping it around Harry’s body, manipulating him like a doll.
Harry didn’t offer resistance. There was no point. As long as Voldemort wanted to use him as a fuck toy, he’d stay alive, and as long as he was alive, there was still hope. Better to bide his time.
“Do you know what the draw-back of magic is, Harry?” Without waiting for an answer — or at least an interested grunt — he continued, “It’s all done from afar. You don’t need to touch. There’s no sense of closeness.
“Doing things the Muggle way is a more hands-on activity. Rarely the most efficient way, of course, but it can be most satisfying.”
Harry wondered what the Death Eaters would think of that. Voldemort tied the last knot.
“All wrapped up for my pleasure.”
Harry rolled his eyes. He could already tell his position was going to grow very painful very quickly. His arms were tied tightly together, the elbows almost touching, the rope at his hand going to wrap around his ankles. He was balancing on his knees only, a few ropes stretching to the ceiling to keep him upright, his front completely accessible.
Voldemort didn’t lose any time. Opening a few buttons, he took out his cock and brutally thrust it through the ring inside Harry’s mouth. It hit the back of Harry’s throat, making him gag, but Harry forced himself to relax and take it.
He’d imagined Voldemort’s cock would be scaly and snake-like, but it was all too human, heavy and hot on his tongue, pulsing with blood and desire. Instinct took over, and Harry started to use his tongue as much as the ring would allow. Voldemort obviously liked it, his fingers tightening painfully on Harry’s skull.
He could feel his own cock hardening with arousal, but tied as he was, there was nothing he could do about it.
Suddenly, Voldemort pulled Harry’s head off his cock, fisting himself until he came all over Harry’s face. Semen landed on his hair, his eyes, inside his open mouth, ran down his chin and his cheeks.
Voldemort took a few seconds to readjust himself, then left the room. Harry was still hanging in that uncomfortable position, his cock hard and frustrated, his face sticky.
He resigned himself to a long wait.
It could have been an hour or a day since Voldemort had left; Harry didn’t know. His world had been reduced to the agony in his shoulders, the pain worse than anything he had ever experienced, even the Cruciatus curse.
His erection had long since faded to nothing, the pain anything but erotic. His knees hurt with the constant pressure and his hands had gone numb ages ago. There was a long line of spittle down his chest, and his mouth was dry, tongue big and swollen. Voldemort’s come had dried on his face, making him itch.
At long last, Voldemort returned. Slowly, he undid Harry’s binds. Harry fell down like a puppet whose strings were cut. A grunt escaped him when feeling returned to his limbs.
Finally, Voldemort took off the gag. He even held a glass of water to Harry’s lips, who accepted it, though not without a suspicious sniff. A few sips had him feeling human again, and he struggled to sit up, then to stand.
Voldemort pushed him back to his knees. He slid a foot forward.
Harry raised his head to look into Voldemort’s eyes.
Their gazes held each other for long minutes. Voldemort was the first to look away, but there was a smile on his lips.
“So be it.”
With those words, the scenery changed. Harry was now outside, in a dark, eerily silent graveyard. He was tied to a headstone, the cords so tight he could not move, his mouth full of some cloth. Wormtail was writhing on the ground a few feet away, Cedric lay lifeless and Voldemort...
Voldemort was standing before him, tracing his face with one long finger and sharing his plans with Harry.
For a terrifying minute, Harry thought he was back at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, back in the graveyard by Little Hangleton where Voldemort had been reborn.
Then he realised that his shoulders, and not the crook of his arm, were hurting. He was nineteen, not fourteen, an experienced wizard, in more ways than one. He could ride this out.
Voldemort found his naked flesh under the ropes — yet another difference to which he could cling. He pinched and pulled at the skin, using his long nails to scratch until there were a thousand little cuts.
Harry couldn’t help his arousal. His cock found a way between two ropes, jutting out proudly. Voldemort played with it, teasing and gripping it until it was fully hard, red with blood and future bruises.
With a word, Harry’s cords fell away and Voldemort manhandled him to another headstone, bending him over it and tying him again, ankle to wrist. Harry’s cock hit the cold, hard marble painfully. Voldemort seemed to have a thing for uncomfortable positions, but they did nothing to cool Harry’s ardour.
Voldemort spread the cheeks of his arse open and pushed his cock inside Harry. He could feel that Voldemort had used some lubrication, just barely enough not to hurt.
Not enough, of course, for Harry not to feel the burn and stretch. Harry bit on the material in his mouth and bore against Voldemort’s cock.
“Oh yes, you want it so much... my little slut... you don’t care whose cock it is, as long as it’s up your arse, do you?”
He snaked a hand to Harry’s erection, delighted to find him still hard.
“You’d like to come, wouldn’t you, my little slut?”
Harry grunted and bucked against Voldemort’s thrusts. Awkwardly, he spat out his makeshift gag. But even desperate as he was for orgasm, he didn’t want to ask for it.
“Beg me, my little slut. Tell me how much you want it.”
It meant nothing, Harry told himself. They were just words and whether he meant them or not didn’t make any difference. They only got power if he gave it to them. He could beg Voldemort to let him come and still hate him and fight him afterwards.
“Please, let me come.”
Voldemort thrust in hard. “Hardly convincing,” he said disdainfully.
Harry grit his teeth and called on his acting skills. “Please, sir. I want it so much! Please let me come, please make me come!”
Voldemort hissed a “Yesss” in his ear, while pulling harder on his cock. Encouraged, Harry continued as orgasm rose in him.
Suddenly, Voldemort let go of his cock, his rhythm faltering as he looked for something. Harry felt the pointed tip of a wand poke his cock even as Voldemort slammed in one last time.
Distantly, he heard, “Crucio!” and pain exploded in his cock, spreading to his whole body like wild fire, triggering his release, more out of the overstimulation of his nerves than any real pleasure.
Harry blacked out.
He came to in the windowless cell he’d been in earlier, sprawled uncomfortably on the ground. He sat up, enjoying the twinge in his arse and looked at Voldemort, sitting on his trunk.
“You liked it. Being bound... helpless... hurt.”
Harry shrugged dismissively. “I’m a man. When my cock is stimulated, I come. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Really?” Voldemort was relentless. “You submitted so prettily. Begging for release when you were denied it. Such a good little submissive you make, Harry.”
“Yes, I know. My Master says so, often.”
Voldemort was visibly taken aback. He recovered quickly enough.
“Soon, it’s me you will call Master.”
“I don’t think so. I submit to my Master because I want to. I allow him to hurt me, to fuck me, to make me scream and to make me come. Everything he does to me, he does because I want it. I’m as proud to call him my Master as he is to call me his pet.
“You? You’re just a garden-variety rapist.”
In an instant, Voldemort was standing over him, his fist raised back, then punching him in the face. Harry felt his head thrown to the side, sharp pain blossoming from the point of impact, blood trickling at the corner of his mouth.