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Shattered	By : Diamonddancer229 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 44840 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making any money from this fiction, or do I intend to try. All rights belong to J.K.Rowlings.

Chapter List
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Shattered
By: Diamonddancer229
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter or do I claim to have come up with any of the remarkable characters, places, or likewise. I am not making money or trying to with this fiction.
Summary: Harry is captured, enslaved, corrupted, and changed.
Warnings: Adult language, gay sex, non-consensual, very graphic description of sexual acts and violence. (Pairings: Voldemort/Harry, Lucius/Harry, Draco/Harry, Bellatrix/Harry)
Chapter One: The Indomitable Slave

Harry swallowed thickly. The taste of copper hit the back of his throat and he moaned as a wave of incredible pain seared through him. He arched into the cold, dark room. The movement pulled the heavy chains attached to his thick iron manacles taut, in turn pulling his arms painfully tight. The metal cuffs bit cruelly into his wrist, chafing and causing blood to bleed through broken scabs.
They refused to heal such trivial things until they became festering and nasty because Harry refused to bend his will. They didn’t count on the fact that Harry had been mistreated, beaten, abused, and neglected his whole life. So what if they locked him in a small dark room, with nothing to eat for days on end because he dared to spit at the Dark Lord’s feet? Been there got the t-shirt.
They tortured him, raped him, humiliated him, and paraded the Fallen Chosen One as a joke, and a reminder. All must bend before they Dark Lord or they must be broken. Harry had yet to break.
He had lost count of the months, he only knew it had nearly been a year, since Hogwarts had fallen, and the Ministry shortly after that. They had lost the Battle for Hogwarts. Voldemort resided there now, like a like a spider in his web. It made the vain man proud to pollute and corrupt this place that had mistrusted him as much as the orphanage that he grown up in, that Dumbledore had protected so mightily.
Assuredly there would be a celebration to mark the anniversary of the final battle and Harry was sure Voldemort would parade him around there. Harry didn’t really care. It had all become sort of like a perverse game to him. He would go, and fight and struggle against his humiliating bonds. Voldemort would punish him till he bled from holding back the screams. The man would push him till the first scream broke loose. That was when they knew Harry had met his threshold. They didn’t want to overtax their favorite toy.
Harry had become almost jaded by the routine in truth. He missed the excitement of fighting and fleeing for his life, and solving on-the-spot puzzles. When he had first arrived, he had ranted and raved for days as they murdered his friends in front of his eyes. One by one, day by day, they brought Harry before him and raped, tortured, murdered his friends. When none were left Voldemort turned to him.
Voldemort allowed very few to actually touch him. Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix with Voldemort supervision, Rebastian Lestrange, and on very few occasions Severus Snape.
Snape was the worst of the lot, but Harry anticipated Snape’s visit as much as he hated the man himself. He had heard the vow Snape had taken to ensure Draco’s wellbeing, and he knew the man was bound, but it didn’t stop the betrayal of Dumbledore’s murder, planned or not. Snape never touched Harry on his visits either. The man had shuddered in disgust when Harry had asked why he didn’t use this excuse to torture and humiliate him like the others. Snape face had soured and the man had threatened to leave.
Snape always came with salves, and painkilling potions, and healing elixirs. Harry wondered if Voldemort never punished the man for taking his leave to heal Harry instead of torture him. He noticed Snape’s visit seemed to coincide to when his health was at its worst or Voldemort pushed Harry’s body a little too far. Harry chuckled a little to think that maybe Voldemort had a small shred of a conscience somewhere that was quietly rooting for Harry.
More than likely Voldemort appeased Snape because the man was a terrible deadly Potions Master, a brilliant spy, and an invaluable help to the Dark Lord and his causes. Harry was sure he was kept in well enough health that Voldemort didn’t jeopardize his Horcrux, which still resided in Harry. Harry was sure Voldemort could love nothing but power. Snape’s visits were just coincidentally well timed.
Draco’s visits were trivial. The boy was soft. Harry was convinced Draco was half in love with him. He never tortured Harry over much, but sometimes he might strapped Harry down. Other times, he would gag Harry, when Harry uttered filthy obscenities, and teased Draco for not being able to succeed properly at anything. Once he had gotten the boy to slap him, but Draco had cried pitifully for half an hour after that.
Most the time he had Harry suck his cock. It was slender, pale, with a fat bulbous tip that glared red when he was aroused. He liked it slowly and deeply. He liked to fuck Harry like that too. Like they were making love, and he often got angry that Harry refused to kiss him without biting the pale blonde’s thin lips. He would fuck Harry face to face, or Harry would blow him. Draco would say his name softly, reverently, and look at him like he couldn’t believe he was getting to touch Harry finally.
Harry was sickened by the sweetness of it. It was almost like a form of torture itself, and sometimes he was sure that Voldemort knew it. He could and had on many occasions, plundered Harry’s mind, and always after such encounters.
Bellatrix’s visits were predictable and barely noteworthy. She would always cover Harry in the blood of animals, have him eat her filthy, menstruating pussy. She would hump his face frantically as he tongued her swollen labia, licking the coppery tasting discharge from her folds, as she moaned wildly. Then she’d crucio him till his eyes rattled in his head. It was always so.
Rebastian was wild and unrestrained in his torture. He often left Harry aching and throbbing for days, and in need of Snape’s assistance. His visit were normally reserved for when Harry had been a particularly nasty bastard to Voldemort and his cronies. He never raped Harry, at least not with his own body, but had put rather unpleasant objects in Harry’s bum that tore his insides painfully. He was all about the precise, methodical study of torture on a specimen. Harry always felt like a bug caught under a magnifying glass. Rebastian studied him for his reactions to his unique new spells and potions that he designed to torment his victims. He was physically torturous, and at times became angry and disgruntled with Harry’s lack of proper reactions.
If Harry pushed him too far Rebastian often paid him back by breaking bones, slicing into his skin with surgical cutting spells, and sometimes de-evolved into pulling his fingernails and toenails from their beds. Harry didn’t like the man but he still wasn’t on par for the pain Voldemort or Lucius could dole out.
Lucius, Harry reckoned, was a challenge and Harry loved a challenge. Lucius was thorough in his torment, he always started small and insignificant, like verbally teasing Harry softly for being the filthy, dirty, blood traitor he was, and work his way through humiliation, outright shame, and uncomfortable torment into torturing, then fast and brutally thorough rape. Lucius was a master, and Harry fancied that if they weren’t in this position, if things had been different, he might have had a kink for the deadly blonde all on his own.
Lucius took care of Harry day to day, and Harry had been pretty much given to Lucius as a treat, because Lucius was the most loyal, the most dedicated and hard-working of Voldemort’s DeathEaters. Harry didn’t mind because he had a sick fascination with Lucius and his drawn out foreplay. Lucius liked to spank Harry over his lap until Harry’s ass was red and swollen. He liked to make Harry crawl to him, liked to feed Harry like a dog, watching as he ate from a silver bowl on the floor. Lucius had even pissed on him before.
Lucius like to degrade Harry and make him beg for release, the only thing that anyone had successfully gotten him to beg for yet. He like to dress him in frilly high society ball gowns, complete with corset and garters. Harry would stand as silk stockings were drawn up his freshly shaved legs, tremble when Lucius would lift his leg by gripping his calf in his soft hands and lace up the fancy, hand sewn, and bejeweled heels at his ankles. Lucius would lace the corset himself too, tugging it together as he worked it tight enough to make Harry draw small, breathy gasps of air. It made him talk higher and breathier too.
If that wasn’t enough, Lucius would drape him in the finest jewelry Harry had ever laid his eyes on. Sometimes diamonds, sometimes dark blood-red rubies, mostly strands of perfectly cut and placed emeralds. Some of the pieces were so large they would cover Harry from beneath his chin all the way down his collarbone and into the hollow that would be his cleavage were he actually a woman. Then, Lucius would spray him down with a light mist of some admittedly heavenly fragrance that remind Harry at once of citrus, sandalwood, and something flowery. House elves were called to apply artful makeup, his eyes always darkly rimmed in kohl.
When he was ready he would look not like a degraded sex slave for a Dark Lord and his faithful, but a noblewoman of worth. It served to remind him starkly that he was not because that was when his degradation would increase tenfold.
Lucius would parade him around on a dainty little leash that sparkled with encrusted jewels. Through the Ministry on his daily errands, through the Manor even as his wife Narcissa regarded Harry through narrowed, envious eyes. Then at some inane moment, somewhere perfectly innocuous, and terribly public, he liked to have Harry take off the frilly overdress and kneel on his stockings knees and suck Lucius into his mouth. Lucius was always about slow sensuality. He would fuck Harry’s mouth slowly, inch by inch with his large, dark purple, veiny cock. His prick was much like the man-perfectly cut, large in stature, impressive to watch work.
Harry was deeply ashamed to admit he liked it when Lucius pushed all the way into his mouth hitting the back of his throat, and would come to a stop. He would pump his hips in tight little circles, moaning low in the back of his throat as Harry gagged and choked around the hard member. Lucius like to pull away suddenly too, reveling in the huffs of impatient greediness he could pull from Harry.
Harry most likes the point when Lucius would finally be satisfied in his tormenting of Harry and the blonde would bend him over the closest available surface, summon and mirror, and fuck Harry fast and ruthlessly as Lucius sought completion. He would hold Harry’s head still and force Harry to look him in the eyes, by painfully grasping a handful of Harry’s hair and making him watch the mirror. Lucius played Harry like the finest instrument, and Lucius was his Master.
Voldemort’s trips had become increasingly important to Harry, he mused. Somewhere in his battle worn soul, a dark desperate sort of love was blossoming. Voldemort could be demanding and cruel. He could be the worst sort of task master, but there were the odd moments when the man thought Harry was oblivious, that he would reach out and trace the spidery bolt on Harry’s forehead. The man had even taking to tucking Harry in when he thought the boy sleeping. His gestures were caring, and Harry had been so badly starved for it that he grabbed for it relentlessly upon its offering. He didn’t care anymore. Voldemort must have sensed the shift in Harry. Things slowly began to change after that.
Voldemort’s trips became shorter and sparser. Harry never knew when the man was coming. He would just pop into the Malfoy’s Manor, and snatch him away from whatever task he had been set to. He was vicious in his claiming of Harry, but Harry thought Voldemort may have felt the same sort of affection for Harry that he did for the Dark Lord. He thought that may have been why Voldemort’s trips were becoming so few and far between.
Harry didn’t think the Dark Lord could understand what it meant to love, even if the man could feel it stir painfully in his chest. It stirred painfully in Harry’s, it tore at him when he spied the man from afar. His scar would ache, and the man’s piercing red eyes would hunt him out in the crowd. Voldemort’s gaze would narrow and focus, enough to make the Horcrux throb in his scar, and he would feel possessed.
Voldemort favored hard, fast fucking. He liked to push Harry against walls and wrap the boy’s legs around his waist and fuck him raw with no preparation. Voldemort’s cock was thick and long, it strained angrily against his belly, with a slight curve to the left. Voldemort liked to watch the expressions, pain, hate, the confusing fondness, the adoration that shone from Harry unintentionally.
Harry could never hide his feelings very well, and he hadn’t gotten better with time. If he was angry, he acted defiantly. When he was sad, he cried and raged against his restrictions. When he was with Lucius, he acted every bit the lustful, tarty, high-priced whore. Here with Voldemort, he acted shamefully compliantly. No, he wasn’t broken, they would never break him, but regardless his heart belonged to the man that had captured him.
Voldemort would flee shortly upon his and Harry’s completion. He would leave, stooping as he passed the bed from the bathroom to the door, to plant a quick kiss to Harry’s scar. Harry would moan, the kiss was always accompanied by a searing but sweet pain, and then the man would be gone again. Harry couldn’t stand it when Voldemort refused to visit him for weeks.
This had been Harry’s life for several long months now, he mused as he laid in pain on the cold floor. Someone would be along shortly, possibly Severus. Harry wasn’t sure but he thought maybe it had been three days since he had royally pissed off the Dark Lord. He had been angry because it had been nearly two months since Voldemort’s last visit and he had behaved accordingly.
Voldemort had given him his undivided attention then. Harry had convulsed on the floor for hours under the onslaught of the man’s anger, and when Harry had sat up calmly and spit at the man’s feet as he approach, Voldemort had slapped him outright, like a Muggle might have done. Voldemort was not one for the more hands on approach to torture. The man wielded his magic as his tools and cruel devices.
Voldemort had been furious enough that he had dragged Harry by his hair from the public chamber and away from the prying eyes of the DeathEaters. He had lashed Harry’s back till it bled, and fucked him till blood trickled from Harry’s abused anus. Harry didn’t scream, but he recalled with anger that he had cried. Not broken, no, Voldemort would not break him.
Harry heard the quiet tap of the cane echoing down the narrow stairs that led here off the main basement of the house. Perhaps they wouldn’t heal him then if Lucius was coming to fetch him. Harry winched and tried his hand at sitting up. When the door was opened abruptly and the light came rushing in, Harry raised his arm to shield his face from the harsh light.
“Potter,” Lucius muttered. Harry heard the man utter a series of rapid fire cleaning and basic healing spells. Harry and the room were suddenly much cleaner, and far better smelling. Harry sighed, relieved and grateful.
“Lucius.” He wouldn’t ask for Severus, though the wish was there burning fiercely. Scabs were pulling and he could feel blood leaking from the freshly disinfected wounds. Better, but not nearly enough. He didn’t suppose healing was Lucius’s forte though.
“You silly, foolish boy. When will you learn?” Cool fingers brushed hair away from his sweating temple. “You have a fever, and that is something beyond my capabilities. Severus has been sent for and should arrive momentarily. Narcissa is upstairs, she should be able to ease the worst of the fever and pain. Come.”
Harry’s knees buckled when Lucius pulled him to his feet. He cursed then, falling into the elder Malfoy’s waiting arms. He wanted to cry for another split second, but pushed the feelings angrily aside. “Perhaps I pushed him too far,” he admitted. He missed the man though, he missed him and he couldn’t admit it because in a way that would just mean Voldemort had won. He made the Order’s Golden Boy fall in love with him, ha!
Lucius made a sound much like a snort, but far more refined. “Sadly you underestimate. The Dark Lord is beyond furious with you, even still. What were you thinking? Even for you that was terrible rash.”
“Okay,” Harry hissed. His arms slithered out and his hands settled tentatively on Lucius’s abdomen. Harry couldn’t miss this slight quiver in the man’s belly. He slid his hands around slowly, till his arms circled Lucius’s waist, a small taste of his own medicine. “It was foolish.”
“Why then? Why do you always push the Dark Lord? The body can be pushed further than he has yet to push you even now Harry. Do you crave your punishments?”
Harry growled and clenched his hands in Lucius’s robes to keep himself from lashing out at the man. The blonde knew he did. Voldemort had shared more than a few of Harry’s memories with Lucius. Sometimes the things he craved now sickened him. Harry knew he really just want to belong somewhere. Somewhere safe from the rest of the world and all its problems. He didn’t ask to be a savior, he didn’t ask to be the Dark Lord’s enemy. He was sick of fighting the rising tide of darkness eating its way out of his soul. “No,” he answered mutely instead.
Lucius smiled slow and seductive. “Then why Harry? Tell me why.” He smiled far too silkily. He knew already, Voldemort had already pried the truth from him, and he just wanted to hear the boy admit it aloud. They probably both did.
“Fuck you,” he cursed and raised his hands quickly to raked his ragged nails sharply down the sides of Lucius’s neck.
Lucius hissed, but held still until Harry’s claws had left his skin, then the blonde lashed out, knocking Harry into the wall and pinning him there. The man snarled in his face, spittle flying and his teeth bared. “You like it too much, it’s hardly punishment at all for you anymore, is it you filthy cockwhore? If it weren’t for that Horcrux and the fact your once-tight virgin ass has been such a delectable treat to us, you’d have been broken from misuse far long ago.”
“Pity then, you must think of me when you’re fucking that cold, dead, bitch of a wife?” Harry could give as well as he could receive. He was learning from the best of the best after all.
Lucius smiled had a smile like the coldest winter when he was beginning to get irritated by Harry’s childish behavior. He pinned Harry’s hips to the wall roughly with his own gyrating them against Harry until he moaned against his will, argument briefly forgotten. Point to Lucius for proving his point all too thoroughly. Harry craved these hostile, sexually tense moments before one of his upset owners would light into him.
“You are a naughty, naughty boy, Mr. Potter,” Lucius smirked against his cheek before the blonde pulled back a hand and slapped that cheek hard.
The response was immediately evident, Harry’s prick hardened along the line of Lucius’s hard thigh were it rested between his legs. He grunted at the maddening contact, but pain was building too heavily in the background for him to ignore. Harry needed Snape now. They couldn’t break his mind but Voldemort was doing a damn fine job with his body. He really didn’t want to ask.
“Tell me Harry, what is it that gets you off about rutting like a wild animal when you’re already so well used, so thoroughly broken?” Lucius smile sinisterly, gunmetal gray eyes twinkling.
Harry’s waning strength returned and he fought the blonde’s hold on him. Lucius slapped his other cheek, sending his head reeling even as his hips bucked harder against Harry. Harry moaned eagerly. “I…,” he didn’t want to talk. “I’m not fucking broken,” he hissed.
Lucius chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that, boy. The sooner you admit it the sooner progress can be made, Mr. Potter. Don’t you think?”
“I think you talk too much, and think too highly of whatever it is you’re babbling about,” he growled out. He was expecting a slap but instead Lucius leaned into him, his forearm braced on Harry’s throat. Then his other hand came up, slithering over Harry’s jaw, fingers pinching roughly into jawbone, forcing his mouth open. Lucius shoved his fingers inside, crudely, until Harry choked.
“It would be wise today, Harry, to hold your tongue. I will hold it for you if you wish to rebel.   However, I would hate to have to send Severus away. Don’t you want you wounds healed, now? Answer like a good boy.” Lucius removed his fingers so Harry could speak.
Harry was so relieved that Snape was in the Manor he almost nodded rather eagerly. Instead he pulled himself back a little, tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of the question. He feigned cool indifference, though it was really just as telling. Lucius smiled clearly pleased.
“Very good then. Today is a new day Harry. We have a very special surprise for you. We’ve come to the conclusion that it’s high time you joined the DeathEaters.” Lucius grinned at him.
Harry just blinked for a moment, caught by surprise. “You want me to be a DeathEater?”
“Oh yes, a very special DeathEater.”
Lucius was by far too pleased with whatever their plans for Harry were. Harry was beginning to worry. It had been a long time since he felt the thrill of unknown danger down his spine. Lucius caught the scent of it without hesitation and crowded Harry back against the wall, sniffing his neck like one might first sniff a glass of wine before sampling its taste.
“Just tell me Lucius.” Harry shoved at the broad shoulders in front of him. It was ineffectual, but it helped calm the butterflies in his stomach.
Lucius made a tsk-ing noise and smoothed the hair back from the scar on Harry’s brow. “That is for the Dark Lord to reveal to you. You are his first, before mine. Though sometimes I loathe it.”
Harry was briefly confused by the confession but the dark look in Lucius’s eyes spoke only too clearly. He smirked and leaned into the older man’s chest. “Don’t be sad, Lucy. You’ll always be special to me,” he purred, rubbing himself over what he could touch of the blonde.
Lucius stepped back quickly and turned Harry around, leaned him against the wall, and spread his legs. Harry heard the quiet slither of Lucius’s hard dragon hide belt sliding through the loops of the man’s trousers. There were a few spare moments of absolute quiet, then the sharp crack of that damn belt was laying blazing hot strips of fire on the inside of Harry’s thighs.
Harry couldn’t restrain the cry that left his lips on the very first hit, and he felt the man behind him falter because of it. Lucius was far too well trained though, and the first hit was followed by a second, then a third, and so on until Harry lost count.
“Please,” he finally croaked. He wasn’t broken, he simply couldn’t physically take anymore right now. “Severus,” he whispered, only slightly defeated.
“Very well,” Lucius whispered back and he cast a spell to ease Harry’s weight, scooping him from the floor.
“Do not tempt the Dark Lord,” Lucius warned darkly, as they set off down the hall to a suite of rooms that came with a fully stocked Potions laboratory. They had been specifically altered for Snape’s stays. “His temper has been short and foul of late, if you know what is good for you, you will do your best to please him. Pacify him, I’m sure you can find a way.”
Harry nodded weakly, clutching his arms tighter around Lucius’s neck. In that moment he thought he just might do anything, anything at all for Voldemort if the man would allow him to be something more than this plaything he was. Harry didn’t see how serving Voldemort could be any worse than serving Dumbledore.
Harry was no fool. He saw Dumbledore for the conniving, manipulating, Lord that he was. Because that was how all Lords were in Harry’s opinion, whether they had an affinity for Light or Dark Magic. Harry had done a great deal of research when he had begun to suspect Dumbledore was every bit as capable of manipulating people as Voldemort was. After all, the crazy old man expected him to die to save the world. Him, a boy. Harry had found this out on his own. He had discovered the secret of Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes. He even still had the diary, whole and intact stored safely in a shrunken trunk he carried on him at all times. Well, he had before he was captured.
Harry smiled suddenly lifting his head quickly so that Lucius had to jerk his chin out of the way to avoid getting it knocked off. “I know what I can give him! I know what should make him happy. Didn’t you say my things were here somewhere? The things you captured us with at the camp? I need my old beat-up rucksack.”
Lucius looked at him quizzically but a moment later he summoned a house elf, demanded the bag, and moments later the elf popped back in front of them with the worn, dirty bag. Harry wrestled his way out of Lucius grasp and grabbed the bag. He opened it praying the trunk was still there.
When his fingers closed around it he knew. He felt it in his scar. The tiny thread of Voldemort’s soul stirred within in as it sensed the other parts of the man’s soul at his fingertips. They were here. All the Horcruxes but Nagini and himself who were already safe with the Dark Lord. For some reason he had never been able to destroy the real ones. For some reason he had always believed there had to be a better way to save the man than to destroy his crippled soul pieces. Harry couldn’t fathom the pieces of his soul floating blindly for eternity always pining for their mates. He had faked the destruction of each Horcrux as he collected them.
He shook himself from his strange musing and looked up at Lucius, the trunk that looked more like a matchbook clutched in his hands. “You should take me to Voldemort first. It’s important, and I know it will please him. I want to bargain…for some sort of freedom. I would rather be a DeathEater than a caged whore. Dumbledore is not so different from the Dark Lord any way. Not in my experience.” Harry smiled darkly. “I’ve always been amazed at how well I can adapted.”

Voldemort’s head snapped up the minute Harry entered the room. He disappeared like a wisp of dark black smoke and reappeared in front of Harry. “What isss that you have boy!” he hissed, violently wrenching the tiny box from Harry’s hands. The man stood stock-still when he had it. Harry knew the effect the Horcruxes had on him, it must have been much more pronounced for Voldemort. For the first time in decades the entirety of the man’s soul was in the same space, the same room, all with-in contact of one another. The box in his hands, Harry at his feet, Nagini hanging from his thin shoulders.
For a moment Harry thought he saw Tom Riddle looking out of those crimson eyes. “I kept them. Riddle, the fragment in your diary told me everything. Dumbledore never told me till much later but I had already done my research first. I had already found most of them, and the few that Dumbledore got first, I stole back before he could destroy them. He never suspected me.” Harry didn’t mention, he hadn’t really done it to help Voldemort. He had just wanted to figure out a way to reunite the Dark Lord’s soul, so he could be rid of the blasted Horcrux in his head and Voldemort could die a normal death and perhaps peacefully rest.
Harry just didn’t want to die, and somehow that realization made Voldemort’s struggle for immortality that much more reassuring. Harry had done some crazy things just these past few months to stay sane and alive. How could he fault the man for what he did? Harry was considering-no had already decided he would rather be a DeathEater if it gave him some kind of freedom away from this monotony.
“Boy…,” Voldemort whispered. He was gazing reverently on the box. “How many?” He stroked the box with his fingertips.
“All of them,” Harry smiled. He had fallen to his knees when Voldemort had snatched the box from him but he rose now, shakily.
Voldemort shuddered and hissed, his head rolling back on his neck as if he were relieving himself of a cramp. “Severus, help the boy!” He waved at Harry though his red eyes never left the box in his hands.
Severus stepped forward, and Harry hadn’t realized he’d even been there really. The Potion Master had several vials ready for him, and Harry drank them without complaint. He didn’t even grimace from the taste. Narcissa stepped forward then and preformed a series of spells to mend his wounds and cull out the infected flesh. When she was done Harry knew there wouldn’t be a single scar to mar his flesh. Narcissa was a master at mending such things as unsightly blemishes, scars, anything that would mar flesh.
Harry took the treatment quietly watching as Voldemort enlarged his trunk and easily dispelled the rather complicated enchantments Harry had specially placed on it. The Dark Lord lifted the hood reverently and gazed in wonder at the trinkets from his past, trinkets that had become so much more than metal, wood, cloth, and paper.
“I want my freedom. I’ll swear whatever oath you want. I’ll fight Dumbledore with you, whatever it takes.”
Voldemort sneered in Harry’s generally direction and cast him a wary glance. “Why did you save these?”
Harry shrugged, he honestly couldn’t say why he had, he just wasn’t sure he could rid himself of the one in him without the others. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just couldn’t destroy them without fully understanding what they were and what they did. Maybe it was just the Horcrux in me protecting its missing pieces. I don’t know.”
Voldemort chuckled humorlessly then flourished his wand, and swirled it over the trunk. It snapped shut and Harry heard the lock click into place. That was nothing to the sheer amount of wards and curses the Dark Lord begin to weave over the surface of the wood. Harry could see the shimmer in the air around the box as Voldemort worked. He could understand the Parseltongue that Voldemort whispered over the box, though many of the spells he’d never even heard of.
Suddenly the box disappeared with a crack and Voldemort was closing in on Harry. Harry hit his knees, because even though he considered himself not to be broken by this man, he still had the feeling Voldemort should not be tempted to hex him during this strange moment in time. There was always later, hopefully, to defy and irritate the man.
Voldemort chuckled as he stopped in front of Harry, and talon-like fingernails brushed his lips every so gently. “What a treasure trove you are, Harry Potter. Lucius, who was it that said they thoroughly checked through the boy’s possession for anything suspicious?”
“It was Wormtail, my Lord. Should I send for him?” Lucius answered readily.
“No, that is a matter for latter. I have just the thing for you young Harry. You wish for freedom do you not? I wish to control you. I have come to a magical conclusion after much thought. It will give me the necessary control to allow you some free reign, and I will still be able to control you should you chose to wander astray. I would call it a compromise, but you have no say in the matter because it was what I intended all along.”
“What do I have to do?” Harry asked. He looked into cold eyes that were regarding him.
“You simply have to drink this potion.”
Snape moved forward even as Harry shrunk back and glared at the Dark Lord. “You intend to poison me then after such a show of good faith?”
Voldemort laughed openly. “Of course not, silly boy. I intend for the contents of that vial to alter your genetic makeup a bit.” The man smiled cruelly and Harry was reminded he had no choice regardless.
He reached out and grasped the vial. “What do you mean it’s going to alter my genetic makeup? You aren’t turning me into a toad or something are you?”
“Nonsense you daft fool. What use would I have for a toad?” Voldemort un-stoppered the little cork from the tube.
Harry held incredibly still as the surprisingly cold vial was held to his lip, pressing into it until he opened his mouth compliantly. “Is it going to kill me?” Harry mumbled. In a smaller voice still. “I don’t want to die…”
“What it will do is make you better. You will shed your human weaknesses. You will become a slave to the Dark, you will become a slave to me. I recognize you have an impressive amount of power, it calls to me. You will become my apprentice, I will teach you the Dark Arts. You will become my most lethal assassin. That is what I have in plan for you; that is the most freedom I will allow you. That or death, now drink the potion, Harry.”
Harry drank the potion despite his rising anxiety. Surely they wouldn’t heal him to kill him? The taste was not unpleasant, surprisingly. It tasted of mint and a hint of chocolate with raspberries. He felt the cool slide of the potion flowing down his throat, into his esophagus. When it hit his stomach it exploded into a liquid rush of heat.
Sweat was already beading on his brow and trickling down his neck. “What is this? What’s it       doing?”
Severus stepped closer to him, gently moving Voldemort aside from where the man stared down at Harry rather intensely. “Do you feel the heat now Mr. Potter? It shouldn’t be unpleasant just surprising.”
Harry nodded. “Severus?” He didn’t need to ask the question again. Snape knew him well enough to see the trouble in his eyes. “It’s a potion I have developed specifically with you in mind, and at the Dark Lord request. It is a delicately balanced blend of Dark Creatures.”
“I gathered that I wasn’t going to come out of this quite human anymore. What are you making me? What do you mean by blend?”
Severus, his face sour at the interruption continued when Harry paused. “A blend, Mr. Potter. A mixture. More than one in a combination. You a neither one nor the other, but a hybrid of several. Where say a vampire may have a weakness against sunlight and fire, we have taken their strength and immortality and mixed it with a creature that thrives in the sun and is reborn in the ashes of its own fire.”
“A phoenix is a light creature,” Harry argued, his limbs weighed down as cold fire sweep through him.
“Not every Phoenix is a light creature Mr. Potter. There are in fact rare occurrences of the Dark Phoenix. Far more powerful and lethally temperamental than Albus’s Fawkes, but very, very rare. We tracked one down just for you.”
“A vampire, and a Dark Phoenix then. Is that all?” Harry felt the oddest sensation flickering in the back of his mind. It was like a dark cloud moving over him, dulling his senses.
Severus shook his head. “No, Mr. Potter. There are quite a few more. Vampire, Dark Phoenix, incubus, thestral, boggart, acromantula, basilisk, werewolf, siren, on and on. For every creatures weakness you have a creature to counter with a strength against the last weakness. You Mr. Potter, are a true hybrid.”
“Why?” Harry sweating had stopped and it was cooling on his body, chilling him a bit. He felt the briefest flicker of pain and grimaced. “I am going to die aren’t I?”
“Not in the same respect a vampire might. We had to circumnavigate the actual death most   would experience if infected with blood or saliva of any of these creatures. You couldn’t be allowed to truly die because it would destroy the Horcrux within you.”
The pain that had flickered in him momentarily flared dramatically. “This is going to hurt like fuck then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. It will hurt, and be dangerous enough that you will be carefully monitored for the next twenty four hours. It should be complete then, but the pain will be great enough to be a risk if not properly managed. Tell me how you feel now?”
Harry gasped and stiffened as another wave of excruciating pain battered into him. “I’m pretty sure it’s starting now. It’s pain, a lot of pain.” Harry watched Snape write something down on a rolled parchment he produced from the folds of his robes.
“Yes, it has started. Drink this Mr. Potter. I am afraid this is this only pain potion I can allow you until after the change is complete. I don’t know what kind of reaction you will have once the chemicals start reacting as they should within the hour.”
Harry closed his lips in refusal. He was sure he would regret it later but at the moment he was lucid enough to refuse the potion. “No, I hate them.”
“Drink it Harry,” Voldemort hissed angrily. “Don’t let your foolish pride stand in your way now.”
Harry refused three more times until Voldemort took the chance for refusal away and forced the potion down his throat with spell that made him swallow. He choked on it hating them both. He hated the way pain potions made him groggy, and would normally only take one at the start of a healing session with Snape. He groaned, and despite his reluctance, he was grateful when the potion took the pain level down a notch.
“You should rest now. You have only two, maybe three, hours before the pain potion wears off, and then you will be in terrible pain.”
Harry didn’t know if he could sleep, but he was determined he was going to try. “Can you help me sleep then?” He didn’t look at Voldemort, he was still looking at the Potion Master, but the question was clearly for their Lord and Master.
Something sparked in the back of Voldemort’s red eyes when Harry finally did glance his way. The Dark Lord swept forward, his immaculate black robes swaying around his form softly. “Sleep,” he whispered in the sibilant tones of Parseltongue, and Harry thought he might have seen a hint of worry in those hypnotic eyes, right before the spell claimed him and carried him into unconsciousness.


Harry had slept fitfully, and awakened as soon as the pain potion had worn off. He never known such all-encompassing pain. It thundered through him, pounding in his head, arching through his body like white-hot lightning riding the incoming storm inside him. Everything was both simultaneously burning and freezing inside him. His body was broken and fevered as things shifted and transformed.
His lungs and heart were expanding, his ribcage lengthened and spread wider. The muscles in his legs became denser and suppler. His fingers grew a bit longer, nails growing into point, wickedly sharp talons. His hair grew thicker, curling down around his shoulder, and his lips plumped and turned a very seductive shade of dark coral. Everything about him lengthened, elongated, and grew until he was a very tall, lean, predator, built for speed and grace.
His teeth were the final step in the metamorphosis, his canines sharpened into wicked sharp fangs, bottom and the top, something akin to the canines of a wolf. His eyes were the last and the only truly visible difference in Harry, hidden behind his eyelids, they didn’t see the change until his eyes blinked slowly open.
He had stopped screaming abruptly, as his fangs had lengthened and stopped growing. He had sat up, those eyes flew open and he peered around the room, hand held in front of him to block the minimal light of the fireplace. His eyes were luscious and vibrantly green, glowing spectacularly in his face. If one looked close enough they might spy the magic whirling around his pupils.
Even as his screams died down, and the fever in his body began cooling, Harry could feel a burning, bubbling, insane sort of hunger blossoming in his core. His eyes sought the various other in the room. Lucius, eyes troubled and worried stood by Severus, who was holding several beakers and tubes on front of him on a tray. Narcissa was a little ways off from them, separated from the rest by her loathing of Harry. He could hear her thoughts, she was disappointed he hadn’t slipped away into the oblivion of death. Draco and his new wife Greengrass-something or other stood next to the fireplace. Greengrass was too young to see what Narcissa could, that her fresh husband was wrapped around the finger of a sex slave. She stared at Harry with badly concealed pity.
Harry’s head snapped to the left the moment Voldemort’s feet had settled on the floor from his apparition. Magic in waves poured from the man, more magic than Harry had ever felt in his life. It was all violent and wild and held tightly on reign by the Dark Lord it had given itself too, and Voldemort indeed was the Dark Lord. Harry could feel the seductive call, an incredible pull at the magical center of his being, and knew this was his Master.
Voldemort beckoned him without moving so much as a muscle and the power and command in it had him all but moaning. His body, which felt weightless, strong, and utterly powerful, slipped naked from between the sheets. He moved like smoke, deceptively lazy if one forgot that behind smoke came fire. His hips rolled forward and he was aware of his beauty in a moment of clarity. He could hear the stuttered intakes of air, he could smell the thick release of arousal that came at him from all sides, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing matter, he surmised, as he sauntered across the distance between him and Voldemort. Nothing matter except the man before him, his blood thick and poisonous, his order echoing in Harry’s head, demanding to be filled. Harry came to a stop across from the man. He tilted his head, and closed his eyes. Voldemort smelled so damn intoxicating. Harry heard the distinct rumble of his belly begging for nourishment.
Voldemort chuckled darkly. “Are you hungry, Harry?” The man hissed circling around him.
Harry didn’t deign to answer, he knew it wasn’t required. Instead he watch the Dark Lord much like the predator he was now. Voldemort touched his finger delicately to the scar on his head. It seared, fizzing to life with a pain that even his new body couldn’t withstand, even though pleasure like nothing he’d ever felt before lanced through him simultaneously. He slid to his knees as Voldemort pressed his finger more firmly into the scar, guiding him there.
“Rise,” Voldemort and the pain died down to a slow simmer. Harry did, and he let Voldemort wrap a pale, slender hand around his throat. “Such a perfect hybrid you appear. So uncannily human, but so far from human now that Dumbledore will never save you. You have been good, my little Horcrux. I shall reward you.”
Harry didn’t flinch when the hand around his throat clenched down tightly before releasing. He wouldn’t die from oxygen starvation anymore, and his body knew it even if he didn’t. “Tell me,” Voldemort began again. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Harry rasped out. His throat was dry from the awful thirst that had been building since he’d first caught a whiff of the Dark Lord.
“Tell me what it is you crave?”
“You,” Harry whispered without hesitation, though he heard Draco’s bride gasp in shock.
Voldemort smiled a sly, dark smile. “Yes, I suspected you might.”
Harry held the snort back and barely kept from rolling his eyes. He was sure that the man had designed his cravings along with everything else. He was sure no one else’s blood would smell like this. Voldemort would have him totally dependent on him, it would be the only way to ensure he always obeyed, even if Harry fought the seductive lullaby of the magic whispering around the Dark Lord.
Voldemort held a pale wrist over his lips. “Drink, my child. Drink the blood of your Lord and feel blessed in the privilege of it.”
Harry didn’t hesitate, it seemed far too late for that. He bit into the willing flesh, and it parted with a crisp sound, like biting into a fresh apple. Blood, thick and hot welled into his mouth, and he gulped it down hungrily, ravenously. It tasted sweet and heady, and Harry could feel the hidden whispers of Tom Riddle’s past echoing in his blood cells maddeningly. His eyes rolled back in pleasure and he drank until Voldemort hissed and pulled his wrist away.
The Dark Lord looked drunk with power as he hauled Harry to his feet by his thick, glossy-black hair. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’ve officially joined the DeathEaters. I expect you will serve me accordingly, seeing as the gifts I have bestowed on you are quite grand indeed,” he hissed, and kissed Harry’s bloody lips greedily.
When he pulled away Harry gave the man a hungry smile. “I want to hunt now, please.” Voldemort laughed madly and ushered him through the opened doors and onto the balcony of his rooms.
“Hunt you shall little one,” the man whispered darkly, beckoning him into the night.
No, Harry mused. They hadn’t broken him. Voldemort had shattered him and rebuilt him from the ground up.
~TBC~
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