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Corvus Fallere	By : Mouse Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7248 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3
Tåri and Janü wrapped us in large fluffy towels and got all three of us standing within moments. Ron was nearly blue with cold, and shivering so hard that I could hear his teeth chatter. Hermione and I were only a bit better off; my stomach was clenched with tremors, and Hermione had her arms wrapped around her middle, hugging her last bit of warmth to herself. I'm sure we looked pathetic.
The Coraxis managed to get us into a warm pool, not as hot as the upper one, which I think I was grateful for; although I knew the water couldn't have been more than tepid, it felt burning hot. Ron gasped like he was being boiled alive as he slowly sank into the water. We all fell silent as we tried to absorb some warmth. After a few minutes, we were urged to a higher pool, and then another, as our body temperature climbed back to normal. Eventually we found ourselves in the uppermost pool, back against the warm marble, breathing the hot steam gratefully. Ron was the first to break the silence.
"Um... thanks. For back there. In the pool, I mean. I appreciate it, you jumping in and saving me, and all."
I looked at him incredulously. "Like we were going to let you drown. I still owe you five for that chess game last week. Can't renege on a bet just because you went and got yourself drowneded.
"Really, Ron," Hermione added, shaking her head, "Do you think we could have just watched you drown?"
"Um..." His face was red, but it might have been from the hot water.
"You did! You thought we would let you drown! Why in god's name would we let that happen?" Hermione's eyes were wide, perplexed and angry.
"Well, you were so mad at me and I chewed off the nipple thing on that awful dummy and Harry had to kneel to that black-hearted bastard and George and Fred left and Hogwarts and everything and...." his eyes were wet, his words coming thick and fast, painful to hear. His voice dropped so low I could barely hear him. "And I didn't think anyone would care and I thought maybe that drowning wouldn't be so bad—" He shuttered to a stop, his head down, hands clasped across his bony knees.
"Oh, Ron..." Hermione waded across to him, curling around his back to give him a hug. "I... We... Please don't say that. Of course we care... You could have died..." She started to sniffle, burring her head in his neck to hide her face.
Ron looked at me helplessly as she began to cry. I shrugged, half smiling at his perpetual helplessness in the face of weepy women. I mouthed the words "Emotional female" without sound.
His somber face broke into a wide smile, and he mouthed back. "Must be PMT."
As I had seldom known Hermione Granger to be ruled by anything but her steel-trap mind, this startled me into a laugh. She raised her head and looked at me quizzically. Somehow, seeing my two best friends, marked and bruised from months of capture, glazed in stubborn dirt and exhausted by death-defying leaps into cold water, curled up naked together in a Jacuzzi was too much for me, and I started to laugh.
I laughed. And I laughed. And then I laughed some more. Hermione was asking me questions, concerned, I'm sure, for my sanity. Ron just stared at me for a moment, then snickered. Then he started laughing too. I managed to stifle my laughter for a moment, just as Hermione said, "Oh, not you too!" and set us both off again.
I was laughing so hard I couldn't breath, and some small, important part of my brain warned me not to go under water or it'd be the end of me. The thought that I could die laughing in a bathtub made me laugh harder. Ron's face was bright red, and he hit the side of the pool repeatedly, gasping for breaths in-between his guffaws.
Hermione stood up on the bench, looking down at us. "You two jaybirds have finally gone mental. What the bloody hell's so funny?"
I looked at Ron. Ron looked at me. And as a team, we tackled Hermione's legs and pulled her underwater.
***
When we finally managed to compose ourselves, our hands and feet were wrinkled from the water. Janü brought us some soap and facecloths, and we set to scouring six months of grime from our bodies. We scrubbed hedonistically, feeling clean and fresh for the first time in what seemed like forever. At one point I sat scrubbing Hermione's back as she tried to get soap into her snarl of hair.
"Ow! Damnit. How can I get this rat's nest out if I can't even get soap into it?"
"It doesn't even look like water's getting into it, Hermione. Here, let me..." I took the soap from her and rubbed at the snarl. Ron wandered over and whistled lowly.
"Whoa, 'Mione. That's pretty bad. You get gum in that, or something?"
"For inf information, some of us have enough hair that we have to brush it on a regular basis. This is just- ow, Harry!- because I didn't brush it."
Ron ran his fingers through his longish hair. "I didn't brush mine either, and it's not all ratted."
"Well, yours and Harry's hair didn't grow more than an inch the whole time we were in there."
"Must be luck, I reckon."
"Probably not, Ron. Aunt Petunia cut my hair many times, and it grew back overnight. So I don't see why it we couldn't have just thought it short. And anyway, it doesn't mater why. Stop being a prat, Ron, and help me." I tossed the soap at him, hitting him in the chest.
"Even Mr. Weasley's illustrious help can't get that Gordian knot out, Potter. It'll have to come off."
The three of us turned around so fast that our feet got tangled together and we fell backwards with a splash. By the time we got ourselves sorted, Snape had ascended the steps and was looming over the pool, hands once again folded across his chest. The fancy leather robe was gone, but a supple sheen on his current robe implied that it, too, was leather.
"Out of the pool, kiddies. You've an appointment to keep."
We climbed out. As I put my glasses back on, I fought the instinct to cover my nakedness with my hands. Hermione didn't look like she cared, and Ron didn't even bother.
I sneered at Snape. "An appointment? What, another auction? Perhaps something less dignified— a stoning, maybe? I mean, you can't be much less civilized than you already are."
Hermione nudged me, her eyes warning me not to go too far. But Snape just smirked a bit and pointed us towards a doorway in the marble wall.
The next room was some type of grooming facility. Stone benches covered with cushions stood at points around near walls, and beside three of them stood Coraxis, each holding a brush and a pair of scissors. Three more Coraxis stood near the door, talking amongst themselves.
"Haircuts? You, the big bad evil Death Eater, are making us get haircuts?" Ron laughed. "Oooo, what's next? You going to force us to have our nails done?" Ron waved his gnawed fingers at Snape, who smiled a shark smile. His teeth were very white.
"Actually, Mr. Weasley, yours are going to have to grow a bit before your manicure."
Ron's face twisted up and he grimaced. "Cripes, Snape, I was joking. Sick bastard."
A Coraxis pulled me over to a bench and pushed me into it. I looked at the one who was wrapping a fluffy towel around my shoulders and said, "Are you Tåri?"
It froze, then tipped its large head at me. One shiny black eye peered into mine, and I backed up a little. Its beak looked very big this close.
I tried again. "Tåri. Are you Tåri?" I pointed at myself, then at it, saying, "I'm Harry. Are you Tåri?"
From the other side of the room Snape said, "No, Mr. Potter. That's Queig. Tåri is with his nest mate in the hospital wing. Queig, Shey, and Kiore will be attending you right now."
"So, these are a different brood?" asked Hermione, studying the creature wrapping a towel around her.
"Yes, Miss Granger. Very keen observation. Now I suggest you all shut up and let the Coraxis commence with their work, as this day is only half done and I have much to do."
"Oh. I see that we're bothering you. We'll just go then." I stood, making for the door.
"Droll, Potter. Now sit down."
I took my place on the bench again, wincing as Queig took a brush to my hair. I was brushed and trimmed, although I could tell by the little frustrated noises he was making that Queig could do no more for my hair than Aunt Petunia ever could. On the bench next to me I watched Hermione wince and struggle not to cry as her attendant cut away the lion's share of her hair, removing the snarl. Snape watched with hooded eyes.
"Relax, Miss Granger. It's only hair. I see no reason why you can't sport the same length hair that your companions do. Indeed, anything longer on someone of your... station would be unseemly."
"And what, precisely, is our station, Snape?" she said.
His dark eyes narrowed. "You are the newest novicii in House Corvus. Speaking of which, I suppose I should set down some rules for you. How can I expect you to behave properly if you don't know the rules?"
Ron muttered something under his breath, but I didn't catch what it was. Snape paced, back and forth in front of us, as he often had when he was teaching, and proceed to coolly lecture us on the terms of our slavery.
"You are property of House Corvus, and by extension, Our Lord. You are expected to comport yourselves at all times with the pride and poise that is expected as a member of our House. You no longer own any personal property; your holdings, possessions, and bodies now belong to Corvus. You will no longer own or wear shoes, except as permitted by me or another of equal status. You will obey your trainers, overseers, and masters at all times. You have no rights, no privileges. I may do as I like with the lot of you."
Ron had gone very red in the face. Hermione's eyes were wide. I wasn't affected so much. So far, aside from the shoe restriction, it sounded a lot like what I had grown up with. Snape continued, relentlessly.
"You will refer to me as sir, as you did before all of the... unpleasantness. But let me assure you," he paused to glare at us, "I will brook no undue impertinence from the lot of you. I have been patient, so far, seeing as you are novicii, but do not push me."
He resumed pacing, his robe billowing out behind him. I watched, transfixed by his voice, as he laid out my life to come.
"Your duties here will be primarily of my own choosing. Unlike many novicii, you are my personal stock, and I will be the one training you as such for the most part. You will have some time with the other trainers, but only when I decide that you are able to carry yourselves in a manner that will not shame me." He looked hard at Ron. "I don't expect that to happen for quite some time.
"You will not be separated, as of yet. I chose you as a set, and you will remain so. You will sleep in the Stabulum, but separate from the other slaves. Each morning you will sup, and then you will be delivered to me. In the morning we will begin."
He stopped, looking critically at our hair. Queig spread his hands as if to say "what could I do?' and chittered at Snape.
Snape snorted. "Of course not, of course not... Well, that's as good as it'll get for now, I suppose." He chittered at the Coraxis by the door, who turned as a group and left the room. Snape ignored us, and quietly conversed with the remaining creatures in that clacking language of theirs.
Hermione was rubbing her hand through her newly shorn hair, muttering. "I could have gotten the snarl out with a little bit of time. He didn't need to cut it off. 'Suits my status'. Humph!"
"Actually, Hermione, I sort of like it," I said sheepishly. She narrowed her eyes at me, searching for sarcasm. "No, really, I do! It's sort of... modern."
"Yeah. Plus you don't look like a big bushy mess anymore." Ron said innocently.
Hermione's eyes flamed briefly, and Ron's face split into a grin. "Gotcha."
The Coraxis returned, each bearing a tray with a bowl and cup. My stomach clenched as the smell of food reached my nose, and I realized that I hadn't eaten in hours.
Snape stopped the Coraxis from setting the trays down. "Food is a reward. Each of you must ask me to eat." He stood, expectantly.
My stomach rumbled. "Um, can we eat, please?"
One black eyebrow climbed the sardonic face. "I'm sure that you are capable of it, Mr. Potter. Whether or not you can ask me properly is another matter. Try again."
"May we eat, please?"
No answer. Snape reached over and dipped a spoon out of the bowl, sipping at it.
My mouth was full of saliva. "May we eat, please, sir?" The word was bitter on my tongue, but the smell of food was savory in my nostrils.
Snape's eyes flared briefly, and he motioned to one of the waiting bird-things to bring me my tray. It was simple fare, chicken broth and cold pumpkin juice, accompanied by a thick slice of buttered bread. It tasted heavenly. Only when my mouth was full did I notice I was the only one eating.
Hermione was clearly wrestling with the words, but she managed to choke out "May I eat, sir?" A moment later she, too, was eating.
Ron sat, staring at our food. His mouth was pressed shut. I motioned toward Snape with my chin. Ron shook his head. He would not ask. Hermione looked at him, incredulously.
"You need to eat, Ron. Just ask him. It's not like you have other options right now."
He shook his head, his hair mostly unchanged by the trim. "Yes I do, 'Mione. I can starve."
Snape strode over to him, lifting his chin with one finger. Ron stared defiantly at him.
"Mr. Weasley, if you do not ask me, you will starve. While I appreciate you following the teachings of Mahatma Gandhi, you have neither his stamina nor his force of will. Ask me for the food."
"No."
I chewed on the bread, urging Ron silently to do as Snape asked.
Snape dropped his hand, motioning to the remaining Coraxis to bring the food over. He picked up the bowl of soup and passed it under Ron's face, letting the steam drift upwards. Ron rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, determinedly not looking at Snape or the food.
"Stubborn boy. You want it, don't you? I bet your stomach is clenching, rumbling with hunger."
Ron said nothing, ignoring Snape. I watched Snape smile, a cold twisting of his lips. He leaned closer to Ron, dipping a long finger in the soup and trailing it over Ron's lip. I saw Ron's hand clench in the towel covering his thigh. Snape smeared more broth over Ron's lip, his finger lingering there, pressing softly against Ron's clenched mouth. "Isn't it good? Can't you taste it? Wouldn't it be nice just to open your mouth, and lick the taste from your lips?"
I heard Ron's stomach growl, loudly. But he didn't move, just kept staring at the ceiling. Snape's smile grew wider, and he ed aed a bit of the bread into the soup, then brought it up to Ron's mouth, painting the butter over his lips like glaze. Ron's eyes slid shut, and his throat worked. I was frozen, watching, my breath catching in my throat. Hermione gave a little whimper of a sound.
Snape's voice dropped into that tone, the one he used on George Weasley back before the auction. "All you have to do is ask, Ron. I'll even make it easier. Just say "please, sir,' and I'll let you have. They're only two little words. You've even said them to me before. Just ask me. You only have to ask."
Snape's finger was pressing rhythmically on Ron's lip, forcing tiny drops of soup into his mouth. Ron whimpered, shaking his head, his eyes pressed shut tightly. Snape leaned forward, his forehead touching Ron's, and whispered to him too softly for us to hear, one hand moving up to cup the back of Ron's head. Ron gasped and said, "Please, please sir. Please sir!"
Snape stepped back, smirking, and handed Ron the bowl. Ron gulped at the soup, eyes closed. I turned away.
We finished our meal in silence, Snape watching us with no discernible expression. When we were finished, the Coraxis took the bowls from us and retreated. We were alone with Snape. He asked us to stand, and we did. I noticed that I wasn't the only one who kept my towel wrapped around me. Snape approached Ron, touching his hair softly and murmuring to him. Ron dropped to his knees, head bowed. I looked at Hermione, worried. What had Snape done to Ron?
Snape turned to Hermione, and spoke softly to her. She, too, dropped to her knees, looking surprised that she did so. He came towards me, tipping his head at my murderous look.
"What, Mr. Potter?"
"What did you do to them?" I spat, my hands clenched into fists at my side.
"Nothing I haven't done to you, Mr. Potter. Only a bit of potion in the juice to make this next part... a bit easier."
"You drugged us, you bastard!"
"Mr. Potter, you've been being drugged for nearly ten months. I've just changed the drug. Now, if you would, please follow your fellows' example, and kneel."
My knees buckled and I knelt. Once I was there, I couldn't regain my feet. Even my head dropped obediently.
Snape stepped back, looking at our bowed figures. "Very nice. I think this will work out well, after all. You may raise your heads."
I lifted my head, glaring at Snape, who approached Hermione and gently tugged the towel off her upper body. Her hands clenched in her lap as her breasts were bared to our gaze, but she said nothing. Snape withdrew a long length of black ribbon from his sleeve, and draped it around her shoulders, bringing the edges together in a point between her breasts. He pressed the edges together, murmuring into her ear, and they shimmered and melded together seamlessly. The whole ribbon writhed, then sank into Hermione's skin, until it looked like nothing more than a thick black line drawn around her shoulders and down her chest. Snape pulled back to watch. Her eyes were wide, and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath.
Snape gazed impassively as the line pulsed with light. Black filaments shot from the edges, tracing over Hermione's skin. It looked as if her veins had been traced with black ink as the magic spread and sank into her body. Thin, spidery lines crawled over her skin, up her neck and framed her scared eyes. They spread down, tracing her breasts, disappearing under the edges of the towel and resurfacing on her thighs. She wheezed, her hands curled into claws as she watched the filaments writhe over her skin. With a flash, the black lines disappeared, leaving only the thick collar around her neck. Her eyes rolled back, and she pitched over backwards in a dead faint.
Snape caught her before she hit the floor, and lifted her onto the bench behind her. He turned to Ron, whose eyes widened as Snape drew another ribbon from his sleeve. I tried to call out as the process was repeated, but I could make no sound other than a hard breath. Ron jerked as the magic wound itself into his body, and fell backwards, seizing. Snape held his head off the ground and contained his flailing hands, chanting softly. With a huge sigh, Ron relaxed into unconsciousness. My breath was racing , and thought I might hyperventilate as Snape settled him on a bench and turned to me.
I tried jerking my head and shoulders away as he laid the ribbon around my neck, but his magic held me fast. He stared into my eyes for a long moment, before his hand, surprisingly hot, settled on my head. He leaned close and murmured into my ear. "Harold James Potter, I hereby take you as my slave and strip you of your name until such time as you have earned one. From now on you are a nameless body, an extension of my will made flesh. You will do what I tell you to do, say what I tell you to say. Your mind, body and soul belong to me. You are Corvaticta."
My neck burned where the ribbon touched me, and the flame moved, spreading under my skin to etch itself into my flesh. I locked eyes with Snape, finding surprising strength in his dark orbs, as the magic wound into me. I could feel it dissolving me, destroying me. My neck muscles trembled, my vision grayed. As the darkness took me, I thought I saw sadness in Snape's dark eyes.
***
Hot, scaly hands moved over my flesh, rubbing in some type of oil. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I tried to open my eyes, but the swirling, blurry sight before my eyes didn't mean anything to me. I realized mushily that I must still be drugged.
The hands smoothed in more oil, up my legs and across my stomach, kneading and pressing on my chest. It occurred to me that I was naked, but I didn't care; the hands felt so indescribably good, seeking out knots and tight spots and massaging them away. I floated, rubbed by those hot, sharp hands for what seemed like ages, only managing to make the softest of noises as I was turned over. The whole process was repeated on my back, the hands pushing and kneading the knots out of my back and thighs. I shifted uncomfortably as hot oil slid over my arse, sliding between my cheeks and dripping onto my balls, but the hands moved to my feet, pressing the soles until I moaned softly in pleasure. I thought I heard a soft moan to my right, but when I managed to open one eye, all I could see was a light blob bisected by a darker one. I shut my eyes again, letting the hands flow up my body and down my arms, rubbing my hands.
I couldn't even say how long it was before I was turned onto my back again and my legs were lifted into some sort of stirrups. Air caressed my cock, and I realized I was hard. Something at the back of my mind yelled at me to do something, to fight the haze around my mind, but I couldn't muster the will to do so. The scaly hands rubbed at my ankles, wrapping warm cloth around them, binding them to the stirrups. My hands were lifted over my head, bound with more soft cloth and held to the bench.
Another set of hands, these large and smooth, slid up my body. I tried to open my eyes but could not. The hands circled around my nipples, sliding over them in tight circles. I moaned. One nipple was caught, rolled lightly in oily fingers, and my hips jerked. I felt my cock grow harder. The fingers pinched and rolled my nipples until I was moaning incessantly, my cock twitching on my stomach. Finally the hands left my chest, slipping down to my groin. I shifted my hips, trying to gain contact with my hard cock, but the hands circled down, dripping more hot oil on my balls, massaging the swollen sac softly. I groaned, writhing.
A hot finger slid behind them, between my oiled arse cheeks, and touched my hole lightly. I shifted away, trying to get more friction from the hand kneading me. The finger pressed lightly, then circled around, spreading more oil. I squirmed. The hand on my balls slid up, wrapping around my cock, and I almost wept with relief. I thrust into the slippery fist. The hand moved, sliding up my cock slowly, then twisting as it pressed down, forcing my foreskin to retract. The hand in my arse withdrew, and I felt more hot oil being dripped onto my cock. I heard a soft pinging sound, like a spoon in a glass of water, but the hand on my cock slid up again, bunching my foreskin over the head of my cock, and I yelped, my hips jutting up into the sensation.
The hand moved down, retracting my foreskin, and I groaned as it stopped just under the head, holding me tightly. A pair of scaly hands settled onto my hips, holding them to the bench as something cold and slick touched the head of my cock. I jerked as more oil was dripped onto my cock-head, filling the tiny hole there. The cold slick thing pressed into the hole, sliding into me.
I yelled, trying to shift my hips away, trying to get the thing out of my cock. Too many hands held me down, and the thing slid inexorably deeper. I whimpered.
The hand on my cock began to move again, sliding up and down over the filled organ, transmuting the stinging pain back into pleasure. My head rocked from side to side as my cock was worked, faster and faster. The thing in my cock moved too, slowly pressing into me, then twisting as it pulled back a fraction, then advancing into me again. I felt my balls draw up, my breath shuttering out of me.
I could hear someone murmuring to me, soft, hot encouragement as my hips pumped, matching the speed of the hand fisted around me. I tensed, trying to come but unable to do so; the rod in my cock prevented any sort of release. I seized back arching, coming without ejaculating. But the hands did not stop, only sped up, as my cock jerked and trembled. My mouth was open in a silent scream as I felt myself building again, hips thudding against the bench. The rod in my cock suddenly vibrated hard, sending shockwaves though my body, and I came harder than I ever had in my life. My balls emptied as the rod vibrated and sucked away my semen. It seemed to go on forever, white waves of pleasure crashing over me again and again, and I convulsed, a last spastic shutter running through me before I collapsed .
The thing in my cock was removed before I could even twitch again, and my legs gently unbound and lowered. Exhaustion crept over me, making my body heavy as my breathing returned to normal. Somebody pulled a thick blanket over me, and I slept.
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Corvus Fallere