Ashes to Ashes

Snape/Harry, Lucius/Harry. NC-17. ~6500 words. Noncon. Object insertion. Cover artwork by Ponderosa.
Loyalty is often an ambiguous thing.

“Move faster, boy.”

The voice was as harsh as the fingers digging into his shoulder. Robes whispered over damp stones while steps echoed loudly in the narrow alley. The rats of Knockturn Alley hissed in protest at being disturbed and skittered away on filthy yellow claws.

Harry shrugged out of that hard grip and rounded on the dark shadow following him, his face set in a furious glare. “Where’re we going? Why’s it just you?”

“Keep your fool mouth shut, Potter.” Dim light fell across Snape’s features, mouth severe and dark eyes flat. “I’ve enough to be concerned with.”

The only concession Harry made was to lower his voice. “Where’s…Professor Lupin?”

Thin lips curled into a sneer at the name. He’d been about to say Sirius, and knew that to Snape, one name was hardly better than the other.

“Evidently, not here. You can live without your nursemaid for one night.”

Hands descended on Harry’s shoulders again and propelled him into the dark. He stumbled before catching himself and realised too late what had tripped him. Snape stepped over the outflung leg as if it was just another piece of garbage. For all Harry knew, maybe it was. They had moved on before he could satisfy his morbid curiosity and peer into the blackness beyond it.

“Where’re we going, then?” Harry tried again.

He’d woken with Snape looming over him, hurrying him out of bed and out of the empty house on Grimmauld. Empty as far as Harry knew. He wanted answers, but the Professor was a member of the Order. Dumbledore trusted him. That had to be enough for Harry.

They rounded a sharp corner and Snape still hadn’t answered. “So, where?”

Long, bony fingers wrapped themselves around his arm, just above the elbow, and gave him an impatient jerk. “I don’t have time for this, boy. There,” Snape’s voice hissed in his ear, and Harry looked where he pointed.

Dirty like everything in the black market alley, the weathered sign above the door gave no hint of what lay inside. The front windows were blackened and broken like rotten teeth. Harry hung back, staring at the splintered door warily.

“The great Harry Potter,” Snape murmured. “Not afraid of a stoop?”

“No,” he snapped. Still, he made no move. The cold night air made his skin crawl, and confusion made him suspicious.

“Troublesome boy.” Pale hands gathering heavy robes about him, Snape swept forward to pound on the weatherworn wood. Splinters and dirt rained down as the door shook on its hinges. A moment later, it swung inward, and Harry first thought the shrill moan that filled the air was from a ghost.

Snape stepped to the side, looking down at Harry with disdain stamped clearly across his face. “Inside, before I leave you out here with the rats.”

An empty threat. Snape, like the others in the Order, was charged with protecting him, and would no more harm his as much as his godfather would. That one bit of knowledge made Harry step over the threshold and into the dusty, stinking interior. Snape’s robes sighed as he followed, and the door thudded shut behind them.

Shelves made grey by dust and time, some tipped and broken, lined the soiled walls. A smattering of furniture occupied the storefront, although what had once been fine red velvet cushions were now threadbare and mangled, with tufts of stuffing scattered across the floor. The only slivers of light came from the fitful lamp guttering outside the window.

“What’re we doing here?” Harry asked finally. “Are the others going to meet us here?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Snape turned his back to Harry, lighting an old candle with a softly whispered word. The extra brightness did nothing to improve the surroundings.

“Tell me what’s going on!” Harry exploded. He’d had enough of Snape’s cloak-and-dagger act, enough of people only telling him what they thought he needed to know. “I deserve to know. What’re you playing at, Snape?”

“Ah, Severus,” a familiar, soft voice said from behind them. Harry turned and watched as Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shadows, steps silent on the dust-covered floor. Long blond hair framed a face that smiled without a hint of kindness. “You haven’t told him? How very lax of you.”

Snape cast a glance at Harry, now trapped between them in the centre of the room. “The boy trusted me. Why make it difficult for myself?”

“I suppose. Though I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed.” Lucius’s cane hit the floorboards with a muffled thump; his gloved fingers curved around the hissing snake’s head. He turned his attention to Harry, and the smile widened. “Hello again, boy.”

Anger flushed Harry’s face, overwhelming the fear and apprehension he’d felt at the Death Eater’s appearance. “You,” he ground out, backing away from them both, trying to keep them in sight. “You betrayed us.” He stared at Snape, believing it in his gut and still hoping it wasn’t true.

“Now, now, Mr. Potter.” Lucius’s voice was as smooth as the velvet of his robes. “He had to betray someone, didn’t he? Death Eater or Phoenix.” He circled the room leisurely, pausing to look at the little trinkets and bottles left on the shelves, and looked back at Harry with a small jar in his hand. “He can’t very well be both.”

Harry backed up another step, his lower back hitting the solid line of a countertop. He glared at Snape. “You betrayed Dumbledore! He trusted you!” His hands were hard enough to shake at his sides, and he caught himself just short of shouting, I trusted you.

“Dumbledore is sometimes very much a fool,” Snape snapped while an amused Lucius looked on.

“Well said, Severus. Well said.”

Harry let out a wordless shout of anger, hand scrambling in a mad search through his pockets. Horrified realisation dawned slowly. He’d forgotten his wand. He must have.

“Idiot.” With a negligent toss, Snape sent the broken pieces of Harry’s wand scattering at the boy’s feet. The vibrant red of the phoenix’s feather grew dark and battered as it rolled through the grime. “I’m surprised at how you’ve managed to live this long.”

Staring at the splintered wood, Harry tried to make sense of it all. The Order betrayed, the house on Grimmauld emptied, himself delivered to Malfoy’s hand. What had happened to the others? Were they safe? Was Hogwarts safe?

“Silent at last? Worried about your friends.” The jar was set back on the self with deliberate care. Lucius looked at the dirt it had left on his gloves and set his cane in the crook of his elbow. “The one you should be concerned with, of course, is yourself,” he said, brushing his hands off.

“Bloody bastard,” Harry hissed in response. “You wouldn’t be hiding in this hole if you weren’t afraid of Dumbledore.”

“You think so, do you?” Lucius smiled again, showing a hint of white teeth. “The boy has no manners.” He turned his gaze to the other man. “And that simply won’t do, Severus.”

“No,” Snape drew the word out, arms crossed over his chest. “It wouldn’t.”

“Come, then. We’ll put that right soon enough.” Cane striking wood on every second step, Lucius reached Harry and put an arm around his shoulders.

Defiant, Harry stumbled back and shoved the hand away. He heard the quiet snarl before pain exploded across his face, sudden and hot enough to send him to his knees. His glasses went spinning across the floor. Fingers like claws grabbed his chin, jerked his head up to bring him face to face with Lucius.

“Manners, boy,” he said, giving Harry an extra shake. “Manners.” He moved slowly to pick up the fallen glasses, brushing the lenses off with his gloved fingertips. Setting them carefully on Harry’s scowling face, he smiled and gave the cheek he’d just struck a small, comforting little stroke. “There. On your feet, now.”

Harry stood carefully, lifting a hand to touch his face and dropping it before he did. “What for?” When Lucius’s arm settled about his shoulders, he did his best to ignore it.

“The impatience of youth. All in good time, my boy.” He steered Harry towards the back of the room, fingers light on the boy’s arm. A rat skittered across the floor in front of them, and a swift kick of Lucius’s foot sent it sprawling with a shriek. “Disgusting place,” he murmured.

Snape followed them up a dingy staircase, a silent and foreboding sentinel. Harry’s mind worked frantically, trying to think, trying to plan. He was on his own and unarmed. Holding onto the hope that the others were safe, he gradually noticed that the staircase was widening, the steps beneath his feet changing from decaying wood to finely polished stone.

“An improvement, wouldn’t you say?” Lucius commented. “Confined to that dirty old house of Black’s, I could hardly dare to imagine it. Ah, here we are. After you, Mr. Potter.”

The door at the top of the staircase was made of solid oak, as well kept and polished as the stairs they stood on. The handle was intricately decorated wrought iron, and a crest of a snake was set high in the middle of the wood.

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not going in there.”

Lucius merely smiled again, a nasty curve of his lips that fell just short of a smirk. “You’ll find you’ve nowhere else to go, I’m afraid.” He tapped the door with the end of his cane, and when it opened easily, stepped inside with the barest rustle of cloth.

Harry glanced back the way they came and saw it was true. Nothing sat behind them but a blank stone wall. Snape stared down at him with dead eyes, face as empty as the stone.

“Move along, Potter.” Snape placed a hand in the middle of his back and pushed him forward. “I’ve no wish to be standing around waiting for you.”

“You see?” Lucius stood in front of a heavy antique desk, with parchment, texts and quills meticulously arranged. “I have no reason to lie to you, Harry.”

Behind the desk was a chair, high-backed and lined with deep green cushions. The legs were clawed, the arms gently curving and carved into fisted demon’s hands at the ends. Its twin sat beside Lucius, all dark wood and gleaming in the candlelight. Row upon row of tomes lined the bookshelves set into the walls, broken only by the tall expanse of dark, curtained windows. The floor was stone, covered in plush carpets with patterns that grew more complicated the longer Harry looked at them. The room was as neat and ordered as Dumbledore’s office was cluttered and curious.

“You’re off if you think I’m going to believe anything you say,” Harry shot back. “Dumbledore-”

“Dumbledore, you say?” Sweeping his robes aside, Lucius rounded the desk and settled in the chair behind it. “My boy, don’t you think Dumbledore would have stopped you from coming here if he were alive and well? Since you are indeed here, it would appear not.”

Harry stormed to the centre of the room, jabbing a finger viciously at the wizard seated in front of him. “You’re lying!”

Lucius’s voice was calm and elegant. “Am I? I should think that remains to be seen.” He gestured with a hand, indicating that Snape should move farther into the room. “And I believe it’s high time we began our evening, Severus.”

Seething with anger but wary in the face of Lucius’s perfect ease, Harry drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Mr. Potter,” Snape said quietly, his arms still folded as he advanced, “that it is time you learned your place.”

Cruel fingers seized the back of Harry’s robe, dragging him forward by the neck. He struggled, trying to shake off the grip or rid himself of the heavy material, but Snape’s hand caught his wrist. “Let go! Get off of me!” Twisting and turning in his efforts to escape, he grabbed at the hand holding his robe.

“Shut up, boy!” Snape shook him violently before flinging him to the floor. “I’ve put up with your mutinous mouth for long enough.” He sat, watching Harry coolly, and when the boy began to rise, knocked him back to the floor with a booted heel. He left his foot dug into Harry’s back, holding him flat to the carpet. “You’ll quickly learn there is no detention here.”

His cheek already hurting from Lucius’s hand, Harry’s glasses dug painfully against the bone. He twisted and turned, but the pressure on his back merely increased, forcing the breath from his lungs. Finally, gasping, he stilled. The sound of quiet chuckling reached his ears.

The weight slowly lifted from his back, and Snape said, “Stand up, Potter.”

Grudgingly, half expecting to be kicked again, Harry did. He stared stubbornly straight ahead, sullen and angry, but not daring to speak.

“Here.” Snape pointed at the floor beside his chair, waiting until Harry obeyed before he spoke again. “Lift your robe, boy, and put yourself across my knees.”

Mouth opened in shocked surprise, Harry instantly started to back away. “Not a chance!”

A hand snapping out once more, Snape rose and hauled the boy back to him. He twisted the shirt collar, cutting off part of Harry’s air. “Don’t question me. Now do it.”

“No,” Harry grunted from between clenched teeth. He clutched at Snape’s hands, trying to pry them off. “You can’t make me!”

“He sounds so very certain, doesn’t he?” Lucius relaxed in his seat with a clear glass of amber liquid in one hand.

Snape didn’t bother to comment, merely kicking Harry’s legs out from under him again. He resumed his own seat, dragging the still-struggling boy onto his lap. His grip tightened, and Harry’s efforts weakened as he started to wheeze.

“Lift your robe,” he repeated, no hint in his tone that choking the life from one of his students bothered him in the least.

Awkwardly, his breathing shallow and ragged, Harry grabbed a handful of his robe and pulled. As his vision started to blacken at the edges, one final tug had the material up to his back before he started to slump. The grip around his neck loosened and air flooded back into his lungs. He gave a few harsh, choking coughs, gratefully gulping down air.

Distantly, he heard Lucius’s murmured, “Let that be the first lesson to you, boy.”

Harry ground his teeth together, hiding the expression by letting his head hang down. He lifted it again just as quickly when the flat of Snape’s hand connected with his ass. It wasn’t a rough strike – his clothing muffled both the sound and the impact, but it was enough to set him to struggling again.

He never caught the calmly whispered spell, or saw the chains snake out of the stones beneath him until the cuffs had clamped around his wrists. He jerked away instinctively, providing the extra second needed for two more to encircle his ankles. The slack lessened, and he found himself pressed snugly into Snape. Abruptly, he froze.

“There’s no room for disobedience here, Potter. Not from you.” Snape’s hand rose and fell again, hard enough that the force of it rocked the boy spread over his lap.

Harry’s face flamed as the hand, Professor Snape’s hand, rested high on his thigh. He stomped down on the urge to squirm, stubborn enough to still try to hide his discomfort and embarrassment.

“Properly, Severus, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Again, Snape didn’t answer, and Harry turned his head in an attempt to see what had made the man pause. He saw nothing, and felt more than heard the blade slicing through his clothing. His breath left him in a quiet rush, and he tried to flatten his body as much as he could.

Cool air struck his skin as the two halves of his shirt fell away. Snape’s grip shifted, and his trousers tightened around his waist. He felt the knife dig into and slowly part the material. Snape was stripping him bare. “Stop, stop. Don’t,” he finally said, too afraid to move but unable to keep silent.

The flat of the cold blade pressed against his back. “I didn’t offer you a choice.”

Harry cut off his protests, biting down hard on his lip. He could tolerate this; he had to. He had survived worse. It was impossible that all of the Order had been taken, especially not Dumbledore. They’d come for him. All he had to do was bide his time.

Snape resumed his unhurried pace. The sound of metal slicing cloth was unbearably loud to Harry’s ears. He jumped when the knife finally clattered to the floor, tense as he waited for his clothes to disappear. There was no movement from Snape, and neither man spoke. When Harry finally lifted his head, he saw Lucius watching him with a smile to rival the devil’s own.

Harry scowled, the determined set of his mouth faltering as a fresh wave of embarrassment swept over him. The last of his clothes slipped away and he felt Snape tugging the shredded trousers out from under him. His groin pressed firmly against the dark cloth of Snape’s robe, the material rubbing over him with each movement the man made and sending little shocks of pleasure skipping down his nerves. Harry stared fixedly at the leg of the desk, willing the heat to fade from his face.

His lips thinned into a hard, white line as Snape deliberately shifted again, bringing a hand back to rest the flat of the palm on the bare curve of his ass. Long fingers stroked slowly, ghosted over the cheeks. Spanking was one thing, but this touch was more a lover’s, almost too gentle to be the violation it was. He heard someone’s breathing grow louder and knew it wasn’t his.

Harry shut his eyes tight as he felt the cheeks separated, felt those fingers dip into the cleft and explore, imagined the two men staring at him as he was laid bare. A sound caught in his throat, and he managed a choked, “No.”

Snape’s hand dropped lower in response, pushed between his legs to fondle the soft sac there. It was enough to provoke him to struggle in earnest again. “You’re sick! You’re both sick!” He clenched his thighs tight, trying to find enough leverage to push off the chair. “Don’t touch me!”

He heard Lucius’s lazy, “Spirited,” followed by the sharp crack of Snape’s hand striking him. The stinging rush of pain forced a surprised cry from his throat, quickly followed by only a shallow grunt as the next blow landed. A third, aand a fourth made him rock over Snape’s lap, made him grow hard from the rough cloth stroking him. Then the gentle caresses began again, the pad of a finger immediately pressing against the small ring of muscle, not forcing entrance, but teasing him. Taunting with the knowledge that Snape could.

Tears of shame burned at the corners of Harry’s eyes. Humiliated by his reaction, indignant at being spanked, only sheer stubbornness kept them from falling. “Never figured you for wanking off to pictures of little boys.”

There was no sharp intake of breath or tensing of muscles in response to the insult. Instead, Snape shifted so that Harry could feel the hard line of an erection pressing into him, and said, “You know very little, Mr. Potter.” Harry had no chance to snap out a reply, his attempt reduced to a wordless grunt as Snape struck him again.

“My, Harry.” Lucius leaned forward, resting an elbow on his desk with one hand still grasping his cane. “You do seem to be enjoying yourself. And turning rather red,” he added with a chuckle.

Two quick slaps across the backs of his thighs, the scrape of blunt fingernails over sensitised skin, and it began again. The caresses stopped, leaving only the continual strike of flesh against flesh and the harsh rubbing of cloth against his groin. Harry fisted his hands, bit hard on his lip to stop the groans building in his throat. Some escaped, followed by small gasps and muttered curses. His ass burned, abused and raw, until finally he pleaded, “Stop! Please, stop….” He dropped his head and let his body go slack, jerking with every punishing strike.

And it did stop. The slaps slowed, became the measured scratch of nails over skin. Harry breathed slowly, carefully, and tried to lift a hand to wipe the wetness from his face. The chains clinked, and he dropped his arm without protest. His voice was small and, for the moment, defeated. “Why?”

Snape’s reply came in the form of a condescending pat on Harry’s battered skin.

“You’ll see soon enough, Harry. There’s enough time for that later.” Harry heard Lucius push his chair back and stand, letting out a small sigh of contentment. “After all, we’ve only just begun.”

With a casual shove, Snape sent Harry tumbling off his lap and to the floor. The tatters of what remained of his robe finally gave way and pooled on the floor under him. He tried to curl in upon himself, to hide his nakedness and comfort his pain. Then Lucius’s soft footsteps were approaching, and with a sound not quite a whimper, he instinctively shied away.

“Now, Harry,” Lucius crouched and touched the top of his walking stick to the boy’s flushed cheek. He turned Harry’s face to him with gentle pressure. “You owe the good professor an apology for your defiant tongue. Wouldn’t you agree, Severus?”

“It seems fitting.”

Catching Harry’s chin with his fingertips, Lucius turned the boy’s gaze to the other man. “Of course.” His hand slid up to roughly grab a fistful of hair, dragging Harry forward and pushing his face against the front of Snape’s robes. “You will be sincere, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry clenched his eyes shut again, gritting his teeth as his sore cheek was ground against Snape’s groin. “Yes,” he managed to gasp out. “Yes, I-”

Lucius began to laugh, giving Harry’s head one last shove before stepping back. He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossed his legs at the ankle, and rested both hands on top of the snakehead cane. “You misunderstand, my boy. We’ve no interest in hearing your apologies.”

Harry was afraid he did understand. He felt the sharp intake of Snape’s breath, all too aware of the hard cock pressed against his face, hidden beneath the layers of thick cloth. Looking up at Snape’s pitiless expression, he didn’t dare move away.

“Get on with it, Potter.”

With the dull clinking of chains, Harry lifted one hand and carefully pushed the black robe aside. He moved slowly, waiting, hoping for Snape to stop him. But he wasn’t spared, and hesitant fingers slowly peeled the rest of the clothing away.

Snape’s cock stood flushed and full, precome seeping from the slit and making the head slick. Harry suddenly froze, his mind screaming silent denials. None reach his lips. Slowly, he crawled backwards, shaking his head. And felt Lucius’s booted foot thump against his back.

“Be thankful, boy, that we’ve a use for you.” Harry couldn’t see the cruel twist of Lucius’s lips but heard it clearly in his voice. “Stay alive long enough, and perhaps someone will save you after all.”

“Stop lying,” Harry said, his voice growing stronger as his humiliation receded. “You won’t make me believe they’re gone!”

“Perhaps not,” Lucius replied, and with a quiet chuckle, sent the boy sprawling into Snape’s lap once more. Harry brought his hands up to push himself away and Lucius’s voice stopped him once more. “Believe me, there are fates much worse than this.”

Harry dropped his hands, the measure of defiance he’d regained abruptly fading with that statement. He’d decided to bide his time, to keep himself alive, hadn’t he? And while his stomach rolled at the suggestion of it, there were too many things that really were worse than having Snape’s prick stuffed down his throat.

He stared hard at the buttons of Snape’s robe, trying not to see the stiff length curving up from the man’s lap. One hand lifted slowly to steady it, and Lucius’s cane cracked across his sore ass, startling a quick cry from his throat.

“Just your mouth, I think, Harry,” he murmured. “And do try your best, hm?”

Harry swallowed the cutting retort perched on the tip of his tongue, suppressing his revulsion along with it. Leaning forward once more, he hesitantly took just the head of Snape’s cock into his mouth. As soon as he did, he clenched his eyes shut and tried to blank out any thoughts about what he was doing, anything about the feeling of it or the taste. He took it a bit deeper and started moving, hoping that was enough.

Lucius spoke, and sounded like his lips were pressed to Harry’s ear. “Use your tongue, boy. Let us see you lick him.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed Lucius’s whispered commands, too afraid not to. Harry pulled back and set his tongue to the head of Snape’s cock, licking around the crown and catching the small bit of fluid leaking from the tip. He felt fingers slip through his hair and he shuddered, not daring to give in to the urge to sink his teeth into the loathsome thing in his mouth.

Snape’s grip tightened, pulling him closer and forcing him to fill his mouth with firm flesh. He gagged when it pushed too deep, trying uselessly to jerk away. Snape began to thrust without care for comfort; the tight grip holding Harry in place just as surely as the iron cuffs round his wrists. A muffled sound of protest echoed low in Harry’s throat and both men ignored it. He clenched his eyes tight and opened his mouth as much as he could to avoid being choked. Gradually, his mind drifted and grew numb from horror.

“My, my, Harry. You must be delicious.” The voice brought Harry rushing back to himself in time to catch Lucius’s footsteps over the sound of his own harsh breathing. His jaw and throat ached, and the thickness between his lips only seemed to push deeper, push harder. Lucius dropped his voice lower, let it grow sharper with a hiss and said, “Perhaps I’ll fuck that mouth and see for myself.”

The only response Harry could make was a low whine of denial, his hands fisted tightly against the carpet. He felt Snape’s fingers spasm in his hair, jerking his head away and hauling him up to his knees. A second later he felt liquid heat striking his chest. He let out a wordless shout and fought free, falling back with come seeping slowly down his skin.

“Don’t,” Lucius commanded as Harry immediately moved to wipe it off. “Unless you would care to repeat the performance?”

The question hung in the air, and then the chains started to rattle. Lucius turned and settled himself back in his chair as the metal slithered across the floor, pulling Harry along with them. He quickly followed, crawling on his hands and knees, careful now to not let the mess wipe away. They finally stopped when he crouched next to Lucius’s chair.

“Stay very still, boy.”

Snape remained silent as Harry felt something cold and heavy rest on his back. Lucius smiled and lazily tugged the fingers of one glove loose. He tossed it to the desk before leaning forward and selecting a piece of rich chocolate from the plate to sample. “Do you enjoy sweets, Harry?”

Harry drew in a deep breath and frowned hard at the carpet.

Lucius leaned closer. Taking the chocolate he’d bitten, he wiped it in the warm come smeared on Harry’s collarbone. He lifted it to the boy’s lips. “I believe you do.”

“I don’t want it,” Harry snarled.

“But you see, I want you to eat it. And we already know it isn’t what you want that matters, is it?” He smiled a satisfied little smile and pressed the soiled food to Harry’s lips.

Disgust clear on his face, he parted his lips and let it push into his mouth. The strange taste and texture of Snape’s release made the sweet chocolate repulsive. He gagged and nearly spit it out before forcing himself to swallow.

Lucius fingers remained curled around Harry’s chin, keeping the boy’s gaze on him. “Careful, now, or you’ll waste it.” He gathered up a bit of come that had smeared at the corner of Harry’s lips with his thumb and slid it into the boy’s mouth with a soft, “Lick it off.”

Harry hesitated, his breathing harsh and laboured. He flicked his tongue over Lucius’s thumb and pulled out of the man’s grasp, upsetting the plate perched on his back. It clattered to the floor as he ground his teeth and glared furiously at Lucius.

Snape broke his silence, his robes already tugged back into place. “The boy is stubborn. As always.”

“An admirable trait.” Unperturbed by the boy’s venomous look, Lucius ran his gloved fingers over Harry’s hair, lingering on the lock that always tumbled forward over the scar. “It does make things interesting.”

“Stop touching me.” The demand was weaker than it had been. “Haven’t you had enough?” Even his voice had softened, beaten down and doubtful.

“My dear boy,” Lucius said in that same quiet tone. “I think you’ll find that there simply is never enough of some things.” He rose, tapping Harry’s thigh with the end of his walking stick. “Up.”

Harry climbed shakily to his feet, ignoring the continual clanking of the chains holding him prisoner. They were more for his benefit than to restrain him, reminding him that there was nowhere for him to go even if he was suddenly free. He hated it, and them. A cold pit of angry resentment gnawed at him, kept in check by the fear he couldn’t stand.

Lucius circled him, pausing long enough to brush the remaining mess from the boy’s skin with the back of his gloved hand before continuing on his way. He stopped again when he stood behind Harry, and put his arms over the boy’s shoulders. When Harry shuddered, he merely smiled.

“You think that all you have to do is endure, don’t you?”

Cold metal brushed against his skin, and he felt Lucius press closer. He was trapped in the man’s arms as the hissing mouth of the silver snake trailed over him. It skimmed over his collarbone, up his neck and to the curve of his jaw, the pointed teeth leaving small, red welts to mark its path.

“Hold on long enough, and someone will rescue you. Isn’t that what you think, Harry?” The snake pressed against his cheek, digging in until he turned his head. Lucius gently traced the bone and whispered, “Isn’t it what you hope?”

“They will,” Harry insisted, his body rigid from the dread he couldn’t shake.

“Ah, they will,” Lucius echoed. “In that case, I suppose I’d best make use of the time I have left, wouldn’t you say?” He laughed quietly and Harry jerked in shock when he felt the snake animate. It hissed softly, flicking its cold tongue over his cheek before it stilled, sleek and shining with its mouth closed. Harry let out a sound closer to a scream than a shout and roughly shoved both man and snake away.

Harry heard Lucius laugh louder, catching him with a hand fisted in his hair. Lucius threw him at the desk, his glasses lost, as was quickly pressed face-first against the unyielding wood. The chains shifted and tightened as he struggled, and a moment later, Lucius drew away.

Harry’s arms stretched out above his head, his legs spread and held fast by the heavy cuffs. He turned his head and spat curses at the men he couldn’t see.

Instantly, he felt the cruel bite of the staff striking his ass. He tried and failed to completely silence an angry, pained cry from escaping him. It was worse, so much worse, when he felt the gentle hand stroke his thigh. He thought he preferred the pain, but still he didn’t dare fling the insult ready on his tongue.

He felt cloth-covered fingers force him open, and his muscles clenched tightly in an automatic response. A bare knuckle stroked him, gliding slowly along the cleft of his ass and pressing lightly. Harry started to tremble, and Lucius’s voice was knife-edged silk when he spoke. “Are you afraid, boy? Afraid for yourself at last.”

He shook his head in useless denial, arms straining against his bonds. He heard Lucius move, the hand caressing him vanishing for just a moment before returning cool and slick. Escape from the touch was impossible, but he tried. He tried, and there just wasn’t anywhere left for him to go.

Like Snape had before, Harry felt Lucius begin to circle the pad of one finger around the twitching muscle. Again, he tried to jerk away; he didn’t want to accept that he had no choice but to take whatever they chose to give.

The pressure increased, the muscle stretching slightly to give way to invasion. Harry choked on his protests, clamping down in an effort to stop it. As soon as he did, he felt burning-hot liquid splash onto his skin, cooling slowly as it trickled down his hip and hardened. White-knuckled, he gripped the edge of the desk, his nails scratching the finish.

“Wax,” Lucius said softly, and the torturous pressure lessened. “Still fighting, Harry?”

A second drop struck him, closer to the delicate skin clenching around Lucius’s finger. He jerked in startled pain, grunting as it pushed deeper and another long trail of melted wax trickled across his lower back. His nails dug sharply into the wood as he sucked in a breath.

“Don’t,” he gasped, his forehead pressed to the desk.

“There’s no one left to stop me.”

Another burning path traced across his reddened skin, drawing another harsh sound of pain from his throat. He lifted his head to catch a blurry glimpse of Snape sitting calmly with his chin propped in his hand, a small smirk curving his lips. Lucius chose that moment to roughly pull his hand away, making Harry wrench at the chains. One last trickle of wax seeped down his ass, following the cleft as it cooled.

A moment later, he felt a gloved hand flicking away the hardened pieces of wax. Lucius leaned low beside him, bare hand returning to push between his legs to toy with him. The soft stroke of long fingers followed by gentle tugging, and Harry let out a sound that was too harsh to be a whimper. He grew hard again and hated himself for it. Lucius’s thumb circled the head of his cock, gathered up the bit of moisture and dragged it back over his balls, lingering there for a minute more.

Harry opened his mouth to plead, but soft cloth pressed against his lips to silence him. “Save your breath, boy.”

Something cool and hard pressed against him. His eyes widened in horror as he understood what was about to happen, and then the pressure suddenly grew, the sleek metal stretching him unbearably tight until he couldn’t take it. He sucked in a breath and screamed as it burned. Lucius’s hand slapped against his back, forcing him hard against the desk as the silver snake thrust into him. Harry writhed and screamed and felt his voice grow hoarse before the torment finally slackened.

Harry slumped forward, breathing hard. A hand stroked his hair while he caught his breath and he didn’t have the energy to shake it off. He heard someone’s breath catch, and then the thing started to twist. It turned slowly, stroking things inside him that weren’t meant to be touched before he felt it start to draw away again. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, anguish etched in sharp relief across his face. It pulled and pulled, and then began to push back again, slow enough to make every small twitch rip through him to the bone.

Lucius whispered, “You’ll scream for me again,” and left him alone on the desk.

A hand stroked down his trembling back as the metal warmed by his own body withdrew. He wasn’t given time to catch his breath before it entered him again, pushing and shoving and wrenching another choked cry from his throat. Fingers dug into him, hard enough to bruise, but the razor-sharp pain of being forced open took all of his attention. There was no relief when it left him, just a moment of empty aching before it roughly shoved into him again and again. And then the ache was just a memory, drowned by the gut-wrenching agony of being torn in half from the inside out.

Tears began to trickle down his cheeks at last, a visible stain to match the blight of experience. He tasted the metallic salt of tears and blood on his lips, and the world blackened and heaved as his guts cramped. Writhing, screaming with fingers clawing at anything in reach; helpless and hopeless and finally breaking under the realisation. A hand grabbed his flaccid length, roughly tugging at him until his body betrayed him. It was a distant humiliation, just another horror to blind him when everything was already pitch black.

Harry’s consciousness wavered. Clarity brought with it pain, too much pain. The bruises mottling his skin reached deeper than muscle and tendon and bone. He didn’t notice when he fell from the desk and slumped over on the floor with unseeing eyes. He wanted to sink into the darkness licking at the corners of his mind and stay there, away from the agony still cutting through him, from the cruel echo of being penetrated and used.

The end of Lucius’s walking stick hit the carpet next to Harry, and this time, there was no jerk of surprise. Only a slow acknowledgement followed by the wordless acceptance of inevitability. For now, there was nothing left in Harry willing to fight.

A hand smoothed his hair back into place, and he heard Lucius’s low, satisfied chuckle. Then he walked away without a word, leaving Harry naked and shattered on the luxurious rug. Harry lifted his head to watch him leave.

Black robes intruded upon the blurred field of his vision. “Potter.”

The only indication Harry gave that he heard was to shift his gaze to Snape’s face. Detached, he watched as the man crouched in front of him, watched as Snape sent a cold, appraising glance over him.

Snape looked as if he were about to speak. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robes to draw out a phoenix feather, vibrant and shining against the black cloth. He let it fall to the floor in front of Harry as he stood, and for a moment, did nothing. Then he too turned and left, and Harry was alone.

Light shimmered over the feather, and Harry watched as that light became flames and his slow, even breaths made the fire dance.


2 Responses to “Ashes to Ashes”

  1. vladpryde (LiveJournal) Says:

    Hey dear, It’s Richard from LJ, just wanted to let you know I thought this story was smashing! I loved every bit of it, and it made me…well, “happy in pants”, lol. ;)

    Take care, and good job!

  2. Tara Says:

    i’m just righting to say this was so good it kept me wainting on what will happen i like how you finnished it.

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